


Something There That Wasn't There Before

by Lorybear



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, College | University Student Sansa Stark, Cranky Sandor, Dead Ned Stark, Depression, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate to Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Joffrey Baratheon is a Little Shit, Love, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Sandor Clegane, POV Sansa Stark, Physical Abuse, Sandor gets his scars later in life, Sandor is an investment broker, Sandor is mean, Self-Hatred, Sex, Slow Burn, Smart Sandor, That's weird, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorybear/pseuds/Lorybear
Summary: (Modern A/U SanSan with a twist: Sandor gets his scars later in life)Sansa stark is a full-time student at King's University who is struggling to find the light in her life anymore after losing her father six months back. Between caring for her mother, keeping up on her schoolwork, and catering to her poor excuse for a boyfriend, she has trouble finding anything to smile about anymore.When she finds out Sandor Clegane, her childhood crush, is back in town due to the death of his own dad she naturally gravitates towards him. Not knowing that Sandor is anything but sad about his father's passing.And what she really doesn't know is that Sandor isn't the same anymore, a military accident during a campaign in Dorne left him scarred and ornery. He never leaves his house, and he can't bear the sight of himself. Much less anyone else seeing him, and especially not pretty little Sansa Stark.He's consistently rebuffing her friendship, thinking she's better off without him, but what he doesn't realize is that Sansa needs him in her life just as badly as he needs her.
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 134
Kudos: 303





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanna start off by saying that this work is canon divergent and in a modern Westerosi AU.
> 
> Probably the biggest canon divergence in this story is *when* Sandor got his scars. I thought it would be fun to experiment with Sandor getting his scars later in life, and how that would affect a person who isn't used to being treated poorly based on their appearance. So in this story, Sandor received his scars in a military campaign in Dorne. And that's all I'm telling you about the scar situation, the rest you'll have to wait and see.
> 
> While I'm a huge fan of Rory McCann and I think he's an absolutely beautiful specimen of a man, this story is meant to model 'book Sandor' rather than show Sandor in appearance. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you like it. Drop me a comment if you do.

Sansa sat hunched on a rock in her backyard, digging the pink-tipped toe of her sneaker into the dirt and biting at her lower lip as tears stung at the corner of her eyes. She hadn't even bothered to take her backpack off after school today, feeling too deflated to go inside and face her family when she'd so obviously been crying. She felt heavy under it's weight, and with the rays of sun beating down it somehow seemed ever more cumbersome. 

Joffrey Baratheon had been teasing her today, and her mind wandered back to his mean comments during lunch period. Sansa, her mother had said, was growing like a weed. She dwarfed most of the other kids in her 7th grade class, even the boys. And apparently it did not escape Joffrey's notice when Sansa had dared to wear a dress today.

"Look at her knees!" Joffrey sneered, pointing at Sansa's pale thin legs. "Sansa Stark? More like Sansa _Stork_!" 

She could still hear the laughter of some of the girls as they giggled at her knobby knees, and someone had called out that she resembled an ugly duckling. She'd tore out of the lunch room as fast as she could manage, her eyes tearful as she made her way to the bathroom where she ate her meal in solitude. 

A soft sob racked her chest as she realized she would have to go to school again tomorrow and have to hear her new nicknames. Her miserable thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Robb calling out to her from the back porch. 

"Sans! Mom wants you to come in for lunch!"

Shaking her head in response, Sansa hunkered down lower on the rock. She could hear the titter of male voices far behind her, spilling out through the sliding glass door to the house. Robb's friends had likely come over after school, as they tended to. It was nearing the end of the school year and they were all set to graduate in the next few months, and Sansa had noticed the boys tended to hang out more these days. Either way, she didn't want to walk by a group of rowdy teenage boys while she was crying her eyes out. So she sat quietly, sniveling to herself feebly and ignoring Robb when he called for her a second time.

Then, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the grass behind her. Balling her fists up, she crossed her arms and bit out a few angry words.

"Go _away_ Robb! I don't want to be around your stupid friends right now."

"Well damn, Sansa. Tell me how you really feel," a raspy voice replied next to her, sounding humored at her angry outburst. 

Sansa whipped her head up towards the person standing beside her, raising a shaking hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she made out his silhouette. Though, she didn't need to. She could recognize that voice anywhere.

"Oh, Sandor...I-i thought you were Robb," she said sheepishly, her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment as she realized her mistake. 

"I noticed," he replied with a deep chuckle, his boots squeaking against the grass as he crouched down next to her. Somehow, even sitting on his heels, he was still taller than Sansa on her rock. "What did Robb do to make you so upset?" he asked, brows furrowing.

She swallowed hard, staring into his grey eyes nervously. Sandor had been Robb's friend for almost her entire childhood, living only a ten minute walk away from the Starks house, but only in the past year had she begun to feel shy around him. He had by far and away always been her favorite of Robb's friends, somehow different than the rest of them. She could still remember a time back when she was in the 2nd grade where she'd sat on his shoulders for a chicken fight in the pool, laughing happily the entire time as she clung to his neck and hollered at Bran and Jon to come battle them.

And now... Well, she could barely look at him without feeling flushed. Sansa noticed things about Sandor that she hadn't before. Like just how _big_ he was. He towered over Robb and his other friends, and his shirt sleeves strained against his arm muscles in a way that most guys his age just didn't. Sansa decided she liked his lips as well, they weren't thin and wormy like the boys in her class. Instead they were full, framed by the dark stubble that covered his chin and jaw.

Shaking herself from her reverie, Sansa sighed as she answered his question, "I'm not mad at Robb, he didn't do anything wrong...It's something else."

Sandor's gaze was calculating as he examined her face, and the corner of his mouth tugged downward in sympathy as he realized that she had been crying. 

"Something happen at school today that you wanna talk about?" 

She huffed quietly, swiping away an errant tear as she got choked up. "Joffrey Baratheon happened."

Sandor grunted in response, annoyance flashing across his face as he spoke. "What did the little cunt say this time?" He didn't blanch at using harsh language around Sansa, and she liked that. It made it seem that he didn't think of her as a child.

She recounted the lunchroom scene to him, nearly losing her nerve as she told him about being called an ugly duckling and the play on words of her name. He just listened quietly with a narrowed gaze, uttering the occasional expletive when she mentioned something Joffrey said. 

By the time she was finished, hot tears spilled down her face with abandon. But before she could wipe them off with her sleeve, Sandor's enormous hand was cupping her cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing away her tears with a gentleness she hadn't known him capable of.

"Listen to me, Sansa. Joffrey Baratheon is a nasty little shit, and I'd bet all the money in Westeros that the only reason he picks on you is that he likes you," he said in a stern voice, still cradling her cheek in his hand.

Sansa choked out a laugh, though she wasn't really amused."Joffrey does _not_ like me, Sandor. I'm just an ugly little duckling in his eyes, and now in everyone else's too."

"We'll see, just give it a couple years," Sandor muttered, giving her a wise look. "But besides that, you _aren't_ an ugly duckling Sansa. And even if you were, haven't you ever heard that ugly ducklings grow into beautiful birds?" 

"Isn't that swans?" she mused, merely sniffling now as her tears had dried up. She wasn't sure if Sandor had meant to make her laugh to stop her tears, but it had certainly worked.

"Fuck if I know, do I look like bird scientist?" 

"Do you mean an ornithologist?" Sansa quipped once more, giggling now as he pulled a face at her.

"Where the hell does a _twelve year old_ learn words like that?" he rasped, a smile growing at his lips. 

"Books?" Sansa said with a shrug, feeling warm at the fact he was impressed by her vocabulary.

"Fair enough," Sandor grunted, bracing his hands on his knees as he pushed himself up back to stand. "Anyway, enough about Joffrey Baratheon. I heard your mom say she picked up some ice cream at the store today for everyone to have after lunch. But I bet you she wouldn't notice if we snuck it before. How about it?"

Sansa nodded, tilting her chin up to look at him as he extended his hand out to her. She placed her palm in his, and his enormous hand engulfed hers as he pulled her to her feet.

"C'mon, _Little Bird_...let's go get some ice cream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was reading my previous Sandor/Original female character story, "Imperfect Souls" and happens to stumble across this, I *promise* I will revisit it. It just needs so much fine tuning and tweaking that I don't feel comfortable moving forward on it until I can fix the formatting issues, grammar, and weak plot points.


	2. Hope

**\- 7 Years Later -**

"Now let's talk about the kinds of international bonds associated with public debt. First, we have domestic bonds. What you need to know about domestic bonds is..." the Professor's voice droned on, the context of his lecture becoming lost on Sansa. It was 2 minutes to the end of class, and he was clearly bridging into a new subject. 

A low groan could be heard throughout the lecture hall as the Professor began writing on the chalk board once more. 

Oh, come _on._

Sansa fidgeted in her seat, anxiety washing over her. Joffrey's class tended to let out a few minutes earlier than hers, his Professor being a bit more lax, and that meant he was likely already on his way to meet her. And Sansa really, really couldn't deal with another argument over their living arrangements right now. 

"--issued by a foreign company. Now, who can explain to me the difference between a domestic bond and a foreign..." the old Professor cut himself off suddenly, pushing his glasses up his nose as he glanced at his watch. "Oh, it appears we're out of time. We'll pick this back up on Tuesday, don't forget that the online quiz is due tomorrow at midnight, and I'll see you all--" his voice was drowned out by the bustling of chairs and bags as students flew from their seats in a desperate flurry to escape the room. Finance wasn't exactly a popular subject at Kings University, even among business majors such as herself.

"Finally," she huffed as she rose from her chair, flipping her notebook closed and stuffing it into her backpack at lightning speed. She followed the crowd into the hall, practically being pushed out as people scrambled to leave. If she hurried, maybe she could miss him.

"Sansa!" his voice cut through the noise of the crowd like a knife through butter, and her shoulders instinctively hunched as she recoiled. Joffrey elbowed his way through the throng of students, a determined gleam in his icy blue eyes as he walked coolly toward her. 

"Hello, love," Sansa chirped when he reached her, leaning up to peck a kiss to his cheek. Though, she didn't have to lean far. Joffrey was barely taller than her by a few inches. "How was your class?"

Joffrey snorted derisively, rolling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "A bunch of bullshit, as usual. I could be teaching that class, it's so simple." 

Sansa noted that he didn't have a single book or pencil, which was a normal state of affairs for him. But she merely nodded in response rather than challenge his unpreparedness. There was nothing Joffrey hated more than being challenged, especially by Sansa. 

He slung his arm around her shoulders, steering her through the halls and towards the parking lot as he went on at length about the various issues he had with his Professors, and how incompetent they all were. All the while, Sansa fought back rolling her eyes. It was hard to stomach, especially considering the fact that Sansa regularly did Joffrey's homework for him so that he wouldn't completely fail out. 

So instead she focused on the bustling life about her, noting the expressions of their peers. Some were happy, talking elatedly with their friends. Others were buried deep in schoolwork, their puzzled expressions clear as day. A few were even sad, it wasn't an uncommon sight to see a student tearing up over the stress of college. 

And yet, none of them looked like Sansa felt.

Empty.

Empty like a car sputtering on it's last sip of gasoline, weakly surrendering on the side of a busy road. 

The pit in her stomach was constant, like unyielding hunger. And it grew worse every day since the morning her father had died. The birds sang less brightly, the sky seemed less blue. Her entire world was one amorphous shade of grey, with Sansa blending right into it all submissively. Nothing made her happy anymore. In fact, if she was being perfectly honest, nothing made her feel _anything_ anymore. 

Especially not the blond bigmouth with his arm around her at the moment. Her relationship with Joffrey was over in her mind shortly after her father had passed, some 6 months ago. Not even three days after her father was in the ground, he'd asked her if she was ever going to stop crying. 

Any feeling she'd had for him was lost that day. And had she been in the position to do so, Sansa would have left him on the spot. But Joffrey's family had provided her with her scholarship to K.U. for upcoming semester, as well as an internship over the summer. Joffrey's mother, Cersei, saw Sansa as a good influence on him and his studies. If finishing college meant that she had to be a damn good actress for a little while longer, then what was the harm? Money had been tight since her father passed, and Sansa would accept the humiliation that came with being Joffrey's 'girlfriend'. 

"Sansa, are you listening to me?" Joffrey snapped, stopping in his tracks to turn and face her. The boy she once thought to be handsome now resembled an angry little rat in her eyes. 

"I'm sorry love, I was just trying to remember where I parked," she lied, shifting on the blacktop with discomfort. They were so very close to their cars, thus so close to Sansa escaping his presence for the remainder of the day. 

"Well, pay attention. I was saying that I found an apartment for us, it's nearby campus. In the frat district," he announced, and Sansa steeled herself for another argument.

"It sounds lovely, Joff. But I've already mentioned that I need to stay with my mother for now. She needs us, I know you can understand. I can't wait for the day we can move in together, believe me," her honeyed words tasted like bile on her own tongue, and she did her best to keep her tone sickly sweet. 

Joffrey had been hell bent on living together for the past few months, eager to get out from under his mothers thumb. Cersei wouldn't fund his rent for him to go and party in a frat house with his friends, so living with his 'girlfriend' would afford Joffrey some freedom. Except Sansa knew full well that the only reason he wanted to live with her was so that she would essentially take Cersei's place as the mother role in his life. Doing his laundry, cooking his meals, cleaning up after his wild parties...

_As if that would happen._

"Yes, yes," Joffrey mused, his brows furrowed as they began walking again, frustrated that she'd used the same defense once more. "But how long do you think that will be?"

"Hard to say, sweetheart, but I promise it won't be too much longer," she said, leaning in to peck another prim kiss at his cheek. They had reached their cars, and Sansa already had her hand on her key fob to unlock the door. 

Joffrey watched her fidgeting with her keys, his eyes calculating, "I'm going to a party tonight, Margaery's place."

"Sounds fun," she said breezily, already rejecting the impending invite in her head.

"What time should I pick you up?" he asked, staring at his cellphone in his hand as he read a text.

Sansa fake pouted for his benefit, sighing deeply with faux exasperation, "I'm sorry hun, but I have _so_ much homework tonight. I'll go to the next one."

Joffrey feigned his disappointment, shrugging a shoulder. "Sure you will, Sansa. Don't forget about my calculus quiz, it's due at midnight. I'll text you later," he said cheekily as he threw her a boyish smirk and jaunted away towards his sports car with nearly a skip in his step.

Truthfully, he didn't want her at Margaery's party tonight and Sansa was fully aware of that. Rumors had spread that the two were fooling around together behind Sansa's back, and she couldn't be bothered with it. Their relationship fizzled out months back, and the intimacy had stopped. She needed him for the scholarship and the connections at his family's firm, and he needed her to pose as his dutiful, smart girlfriend who was smitten.

Turning towards her car, she heard him crank the music as he peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching all the way. 

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, brushing her hair back with a sweep of her hand and feeling drained from all the lying. She wondered briefly why they even kept it up between each other, why they couldn't just speak plainly and see the situation for what it was. 

She imagined that would hurt his ego too much.

The drive home was relaxing for the most part, and she listened to some of her old favorite songs along the way, but she couldn't quite bring herself to sing along. She was pulling into the driveway and noted that both Robb and Jon's cars were already there. Arya would be annoyed to be parking on the street, no doubt. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she exited the car, she made her way for the house to find the door was ajar. 

Two people were muttering lowly inside the foyer, so she hesitated and listened.

"...Dondarrion said he was half in the bag when he saw him at the gas station last week, barely even recognized Beric he was so in his cups," Jon's voice said in a terse tone.

"Gods," Robb said solemnly, letting out a deep sigh, "I didn't even know he was out until a few days ago, no one's heard from him in half a decade."

"Well, I'm hearing there's a good reason for that," Jon replied, sounding hesitant. "He was discharged a few years back, apparently he's been living somewhere else since he got back from Dorne. Only came back to King's Landing on account of his old man passing away..."

Sansa's stomach flipped as recognition dawned on her, and she couldn't stop herself from pushing open the door in earnest. Both of the men jumped as the door nearly slammed into them.

"Sandor is back?" She asked, eyes darting back and forth as she took in the surprised expressions of her brothers. 

"Sansa, what the fuck? Eavesdropping on your own front porch?" Robb said with mild irritation, shifting uncomfortably as though her bursting in had unsettled him. 

"Sorry, I just got excited," she bit her lip softly, studying both of their faces. "He's back, though?" She repeated hollowly, wishing one of them to confirm it. 

Jon nodded in response, not seeming quite as shaken as Robb.

Sansa's breathing quickened as a warm flood of memories came rushing back. Sandor laughing as he sat around the campfire on those long summer nights with Robb and Jon and their other mates. The way he'd comforted her when he scooped her off the sidewalk and carried her inside when she was 8 and had scraped her knee. The husky sound of his voice when he called her little bird so many times the summer before he left. The sight of his retreating form as he walked away from his friends through the airport, leaving to join the military all those years ago. Sansa had bawled her eyes out when he left, but she had been happy to see him off.

It struck her suddenly as she remembered something else Jon had just said.

"Mr. Clegane?" she asked in a wavering voice, hoping she hadn't heard him properly. "He's...he's dead?"

"Heart attack," Jon grunted, shoving his hands into his pocket as he ducked his head. "It's a damn shame. I didn't know him well, but Sandor never spoke badly of him. I'm sure he was a good man." 

Sansa felt without words, and a wave of grief crashed over her. It struck too close to home, and her heart squeezed with familiar hurt, but this time it was for Sandor rather than herself.

"When is the funeral?" she asked softly, a feeling of unease growing in her stomach.

"It was weeks ago, Sans. They took him back to the Westerlands. All of the Clegane family is buried there, it would seem. It's only Gregor and Sandor that are left now near as I can tell." Jon said gravely as his frown deepened.

_And we weren't there for him. None of us were there for him._

Sansa's legs felt weak, shame washing over her. They'd been as close as family, Robb and Sandor especially, and not one of them had made a show of support. 

"Where is Sandor now? The Westerlands?" she asked.

Robb and Jon exchanged a pointed glance, and finally Robb broke his silence. 

"He's...here, Sansa. In King's Landing. Handling his fathers estate or something to that effect. Heard talk that he's living in the house his dad left him, at least for the time being. You know better than most how much can be involved with sorting out a will."

Hope unfurled in Sansa's belly as she realized what he was saying, and her hand dug into her pocket to retrieve her car keys once more. She _needed_ to go see him.

"Tell mom I'll be back later if she asks, have her text me if she needs anything from the grocery store," Sansa said, turning on her heel to go back out the door. 

Jon's arm closed around her wrist, and her head jerked back to look at him suddenly. 

"Sansa, there's something you need to know. He's...changed. Some shit must've happened when he was off fighting in Dorne, I don't know the details, but you can't go running over there right now," the discomfort on his face puzzled Sansa, and she watched as he struggled to find the words. "He's a different person now, I really don't know how to say this--"

"We're all different now, Jon. We've all changed. But he's still our friend, and I guarantee you he needs someone right now," she said softly, reaching up to pry her fingers from her arm and turning on her heel to make for her car. 

She paused for a moment before climbing into her car and she narrowed her eyes at her brothers, "I'm honestly a little disappointed in you two, true friends don't abandon each other when things get tough."

"Sansa, wait," Robb's voice was drowned out by the slamming of her car door and the roar of her engine as it came to life. 

Throwing the car in reverse into the street, Sansa felt her heart racing in her chest in anticipation. She hadn't seen Sandor in so long, and to see him again under such unfortunate circumstances seemed so very wrong. But if there was one person who understood what Sandor was likely feeling right now, it was Sansa. He surely needs company. 

"And maybe a fruit basket," Sansa hummed to herself quietly, flicking her directional on as she turned into the parking lot of the Red Keep Supermarket. 


	3. Fruit Basket

The angry red digits on Sandor's alarm clock shone bright in the blackness of his room, telling him it was 3:25 p.m. He groaned in protest, burying his face deeper into the pillow. A dull throbbing in his temples coupled with the growing need to piss finally roused him from the bed. He cast a sidelong glance at the empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand before he sluggishly dragged himself down the hall to the bathroom to take care of business.

Tucking his cock back into his briefs, Sandor turned towards the bathroom sink and reached for his toothbrush. The taste in his mouth after a night of drinking was something even he couldn't bear. Instinctively, he glanced up where the mirror should be until the sight of a blank wall quickly reminded that he'd all but torn it from the wall when he moved in three weeks ago. 

_Even I don't want to see my fucking mug,_ he'd thought as he'd pried the mirror from the wall that first day. 

Sandor laid his toothbrush down, having finished brushing, and ran the faucet to cup a handful of water in his palms. He splashed it over his face, washing away the sleep as well as his shitty thoughts. His fingertips met the gnarled flesh of his cheek, and he recoiled at the texture. Even years later, he found it was something he would never get used to. He briefly wiped his hands on the towel before making for the living room. 

It was still strange to him, being back here again. Everything looked just the same as it had when he'd left all those years ago. Except now, most of the surfaces in the house were littered with empty bottles, cigarette butts, and takeout containers. The latter was mostly due to the fact that Sandor seldom left the house, unwilling to risk running into old acquaintances again. The reaction of his old friend Beric when he saw Sandor gassing up his truck a week back had said it all. 

Solitude was better than being a spectacle. 

Making his way to the fridge, he tugged the door open and withdrew a carton of half eaten takeout food and a fresh beer. Popping the top off the beer, he settled on the couch with his cold container of noodles. He couldn't help but stare at the recliner across from him, the very one his old man had sat in for his entire childhood. It was an ugly old thing, brown and green checkered and fraying at every corner. 

His lips twitched with anger as his mind wandered, and he brought mouth of the beer bottle to his lips to stifle his growing rage. He was only on his second mouthful when the sound of the doorbell ringing made him freeze mid-sip. 

The curtains were all drawn, so there was no peering in or out. Still, Sandor turned his head slowly towards the door as if he might will himself to see who was on the other side. He waited for a good thirty seconds, hearing nothing, before he went back to nursing his beer. 

The doorbell rang again, and he surged to his feet, feeling hot in the face as he moved towards the disturbance. His scars prickled with heat as he opened his mouth to speak, but all the fury in him fell away in an instant with what he heard next. 

"S-sandor, are you there? It's me, Sansa. Robb's sister. I don't know if you remember me..." a soft, vaguely familiar voice chirped. 

Immediately, images of twelve year old Sansa came rushing back to him. She had been all legs, red hair, and braces back then. Rob's little sister had always been taken with him, and in return he'd treated her like she was his own sister. 

Gods, but that was so fucking long ago. What did little Sansa look like now that she was all grown up? Curiosity alone drove him forward, and he walked carefully toward the door so as to avoid the creaky floorboards that he still knew by heart from sneaking out in his teens. Or so he thought, until he misstepped and hit a particularly squeaky spot.

"Sandor?" The sweet voice spoke once more, sounding even more uncertain now. She waited patiently for a few beats, he expected hoping he would come to the door, before continuing. "I um, I'm pretty sure that's your truck out front. I know it's rude to drop by unannounced, but I just heard about your dad." 

He sucked in a low breath, a mixture of pain and rage coursing through him at her words. Surely she'd heard him, but he didn't care at this point. 

"I'm really sorry, Sandor. It's the worst thing in the world, I know. I felt like I was completely numb for weeks after my dad died, and not one trite thing that anyone said helped..."

His knees felt weak for a moment as he registered her words, and a dull ache started to spread through his chest. He had no idea that Ned Stark had passed, he'd been away from King's Landing for so long now that he didn't have any connection to the people he'd left behind here.

The Stark patron had been nothing but kind to him for as long as he had known Robb, and Sandor had silently wished for his own father to be more like Ned. He was the kind of upstanding man who the entire community regarded as someone to look up to.

"But I'm here to listen, if there's anything you want to get off your chest. Heck, I'll even sit in silence with you if you like," she said the last bit so softly that if Sandor hadn't been standing practically flush against the door, he might not have heard her. 

Unable to stave off his desire to see her, he carefully bent his head to align his eye with the peephole. 

_Seven fucking hells._

Granted, the fish-eye perspective was a bit skewed, but there was no mistaking that Sansa Stark had grown up. Gone was the gangly, redheaded child that he so fondly remembered. Instead he was met with the sight of a beautiful young woman, all traces of awkward youth completely absent. And right on cue, as if she knew he was staring at her, her eyes flickered up towards the peephole. 

He froze in place, transfixed by the hauntingly sad blue eyes that held him there.

If he had at all been considering letting Sansa in to talk before he saw her, that was absolutely not fucking happening now. Pretty Sansa Stark would take one look at his ravaged face, and turn tail and run. No fucking doubt about it. Whoever she remembered him as, he wasn't that person any longer. 

Sandor cleared his throat, speaking clearly towards the door. 

"I'm real sorry to hear about your father, Sansa. I appreciate you stopping by and giving your condolences," he said through gritted teeth, doing his damned best to sound polite. He was incredibly hungover, and he wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries with anyone right now. 

When he didn't offer any invitation for her to come in, or further explanation, a breathy feminine sigh echoed from the other side of the door.

Sandor hated how the sound made his cock twitch in his briefs. 

"I really was hoping we could talk for a little bit," she said in a defeated voice. "I can't pretend I know exactly what you're going through right now, but I know what it's like to lose someone you care for."

The sense that he was letting her down nearly had him wanting to open the door, were it not for the fact he knew she'd be ten times more disappointed by the sight of his face.

"I'm fine, Sansa. Thanks for the concern," his tone grew stern as he steeled himself.

"Sandor, I know it's difficult but the best thing is really to let it all out. You're carrying an enormous emotional burden right now, and--"

" _Go home, Sansa._ " He bit out sharply, losing any semblance of courtesy now. Sandor was not in the mood for anyone's bullshit armchair psychology weeks ago when his dad had passed, and he was even less interested now.

After a few moments of silence, he heard a bit of rustling and the eventual sound of something being set against the door.

"I'm sorry I bothered you, then. I uh, I brought you a fruit basket, I'm just going to leave it on the porch. Come by any time, I know Robb and Jon would love to see you..." She trailed off, sounding sad. "Take care, Sandor."

Her beat dog tone made him want to punch himself in the face, and he cursed silently as he listened to the sound of her footsteps grow faint. Peering through the peephole once more, he watched her retreating form as she made her way to her car, taking in the sight of her from this new angle. She was taller than ever, and her jeans hugged her full hips in a way that had his mind wandering to places it shouldn't go. Her silky red hair was down to her mid back, and it swayed temptingly with every step she took.

_Fucking horny idiot, stop._

He forced himself to shake the lewd thoughts away, and he watched as she climbed into her car and sped away. When he was sure that she was long gone, he unlocked the door and removed the chain before pulling it open. 

There on the porch was a dainty little basket, wrapped in cellophane and garnished with a big red bow. He hooked two of his fingers underneath the wicker handle, scooping it up quickly and ducking back inside.

Moving back to the couch, he set the basket on the coffee table, eyeing it as he lit up a cigarette and placed it between his lips. It was packed to the brim with fruits and chocolate covered nuts, but he didn't move to unpack any of it. Somehow it felt wrong, having sent her away so rudely, to eat any of it. 

Even if it was a gift. 

So he abandoned it on the table, taking a few more deep drags of his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray. 

"Time to get to work," he rasped sarcastically to himself, grabbing his laptop off the sofa next to him where he'd abandoned it the previous night. The browser was still open to his brokerage account, and he refreshed the page and hammered his login information in once more. Sandor was mildly pleased to see that his portfolio had gone up four percent overnight, and he went to work placing a few more calls on the option that was responsible for the uptick. 

* * * * *

A few hours later, he was pushing the lid of his laptop shut. He raked his fingertips through his hair, avoiding the burned parts of his scalp for his own sake, feeling a bit exasperated. He'd woken up too fuckin' late today, and the accounts he brokered for definitely showed the lack of activity on his end. The most urgent traders were always made in the first few hours of the morning, but lately Sandor had been oversleeping into the mid afternoon. 

His stomach rumbled, not satisfied with the half-eaten takeout food he'd had for lunch. Sandor couldn't be bothered to cook anything right now, instead he searched up a nearby pizza place to order from and made the call.

Preemptively, he dug into his wallet and pulled out a few bills before making his way to his door and tacking them to the front of it with a magnet. Lest he frighten an unsuspecting pizza boy. The restaurant had said it would be at least 40 minutes, and Sandor ran the flat of his palm against the hard plane of his growling stomach. His eyes fell on the fancy little basket that sat abandoned on the coffee table. 

He begrudgingly tugged the perfect little bow free at the top of it, and when he did so a small white card that he hadn't been aware of toppled onto the glass surface of the table.

"The fuck--" he grunted, scooping up the small card into his palm. He found that his name was scrawled in fancy handwriting on the face of it, and he eagerly thumbed it open.

_Sandor,_

_I'm so sorry for the loss of your father,_

_I hope you know that the Stark family will always be there for you if you need anything._

_(Myself most of all.)_

_Call me any time, day or night._

_-Little Bird_

And beneath that, in equally elegant penmanship, was her phone number. He clenched his teeth, feeling even more like an ass now. She'd clearly written this before coming over earlier, before he'd all but told her to kick fucking rocks. He traced the curling letters where she'd written his old nickname for her, and the corner of his mouth turned up in memory.

The silence was deafening in the house as he palmed his phone, opening his screen to a fresh message as he began typing in her number with shaking fingers. One text couldn't hurt, and he couldn't just let things stand like this after he'd treated her so badly. 

Even he wasn't that much of a fucking monster. 

**Sandor: Thank you for the basket. I apologize for being so short, I've got a lot going on right now.**

It was a weak apology at best, not to mention a flat-out lie, but then again Sandor hardly ever talked to anyone for non-business purposes so he wasn't adept at polite text conversation. His last 5 messages were weeks apart, and only from clients inquiring about choices he made for their investment accounts. Regardless, it would have to do. He wasn't about to get all mushy over text with a person he barely knew anymore.

"That settles that," he grunted, poking a hole into the cellophane of the gift basket as he dug around for an orange. He had just begun peeling it when he was jolted by the sound of his cellphone vibrating beside him. He expected to find it was the pizza place calling him to let him know they were on their way, or that they needed to make a substitution. He glanced at the screen, and the sight that greeted him made his gut churn.

The number he'd typed in only a few minutes ago was ringing him back.

Sansa was calling him. 

Sandor gingerly picked up the phone and stared at the bright blue buzzing screen. The little 'answer call' symbol shaking errantly, begging to be touched as the phone shook in his hand. 

_Answer it, you fucking coward._

He tapped the button quickly, stunned at the realization he was afraid the call would end before he picked it up.

"Hey, little bird," he rasped lowly into the speaker, closing his eyes and leaning back onto the sofa as he waited for the gentle sound of her voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor being an investment broker is a bit of a strange choice I realize, but when I tried to theorize what kind of jobs a person could have when they don't like to face the public, this was the most appealing one to me. You'll see more later on how he came to settle on such a job. 
> 
> Please don't hate my portrayal as Sandor as a dirty guy :( He's just depressed, everyone's been there and he'll come out of it.


	4. Mac and Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very dialogue heavy chapter, full of story building and awkwardness. Hope you like it :) Things will be picking up soon, and I'll probably do a double chapter update next time I post.

Well, that was odd.

Sansa couldn't swallow the lump in her throat as she drove home from Sandor's house, her fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. 

Granted it had been a long time since she'd seen him, and she had dropped by unannounced, but what the actual hell was that? Talking to her through the door instead of just speaking to her face-to-face. He obviously didn't want to talk, and Sansa knew she should respect that, but gods how strange it had all been. 

As she turned back onto her street, she saw that Arya's SUV had taken her place in the driveway. She parked on the curb quickly, and made her way into the house with purpose. 

Jon, Robb, and Arya were all eating dinner at the table. Well, if you could even call it dinner. 

There was an enormous bowl of mac and cheese in the center of the table, and a plate stacked high with dinosaur chicken nuggets. 

Sansa dropped her keys and phone onto the kitchen counter, raising a brow in their direction. "Hey guys, where's mom?" 

"Upstairs," Arya said through a mouthful of cheesy noodles. "We tried to get her to come down, but she said she wasn't feeling up to it today. She barely left her room since morning. Jon brought her some mac, but she didn't want it."

Sansa sighed softly, feeling a bit irresponsible that she had practically sprinted to Sandor's house earlier without checking on her mom. It had become unfortunately common for her to just lay in bed all day since dad had died. It was the reason Robb and Jon had both moved back home, and the main reason that Sansa hadn't moved to live on campus for college. She needed all the support her family had to offer.

Catelyn Stark had always been a strong woman, 'a force to be reckoned with' her dad had called her jokingly more than once.

All of that had changed when Catelyn found his body six months ago, and many times Sansa found herself worrying if her mother would even come close to being a shadow of her former self again.

"Well, I'm not surprised when her only options are powdered-cheese noodles or breaded processed meat shaped like a dinosaur," Sansa said halfheartedly, offering up a feeble smirk at Arya who had stuck her tongue out.

"Don't be a hater, Sansa," Arya retorted.

Jon and Robb were both curiously silent, and Sansa wondered if they were upset with her for what had happened earlier. For the time being, though, she moved past them without saying another word and made her way up to her mother's room.

Her mother had long since moved her things to the guest room, unable to sleep in the master bedroom that she had shared with her father before his passing. She couldn't bear to remember the things she had seen that day. 

Sansa shuddered and pushed the terrible memory from her mind and back into its dark hiding spot. She knocked softly on the door, and got a bit nervous when she didn't hear a response.

"Mom? It's Sansa... Can I come in?"

Her mothers voice croaked a single affirmation, and Sansa quickly opened the door. Catelyn barely raised her head off of her pillow as Sansa moved into the room and rounded the bed to look at her.

"Hi, mom," she whispered, taking in the sight of her mothers face. 

She'd aged so much in the last few months. Her high cheekbones looked too high now, she ate once per day if that. The translucence of her skin was alarming. Sansa herself was quite unable to tan, but her mother was paler than she'd ever been in her entire life. Her mother had never been the type of woman to attempt to cover up her grey hairs, they were few and far between and blended into her red mane in an almost imperceptible way. 

Now, Sansa wagered that nearly half of her poor mothers head had gone grey. She also lost hair often, Sansa noticed. Finding strands of it on her sheets and pillow every time she laundered them. 

Catelyn turned her eyes upon her now, hooded and hopeless. The corner of her mouth quirked up ever so slightly as she spoke. "Sansa, love... How are you?"

"I'm fine mom. Arya said you didn't eat dinner, can I make you something else? A sandwich, or maybe a salad?" Sansa probed gently. 

Her mother simply shook her head, and let her eyes fall shut once more as she spoke. "I'm just tired, dear. A bit more sleep and then I'll be fine." Sansa wanted to cry.

Instead, she squeezed her mothers pale hand in her own, and kissed the tops of her knuckles gently. 

"I'll check on you again in a few hours, okay?"

Catelyn murmured another affirmation, turning away from Sansa towards the empty side of her bed.

This wasn't normal, at all. A period of grief is expected for a time, but not quite so long. To spend an entire day in bed was often the norm. Occasionally Catelyn would sit on the couch downstairs and watch TV at night with them, but even then she hardly seemed interested and mostly lost in thought. Some days were worse than others, of course, but days like today were downright frightening.

Sansa felt her mind racing as she exited the room and walked back downstairs to rejoin her siblings. She found that they were all seated on the living room couches now, with Arya stretched out on the loveseat, watching a singing competition show. Sansa marched forward and grabbed the remote out of Arya's hand, ignoring her cry of protest. Muting the show, she whipped around and blocked their view of the television.

"Mom isn't getting better at handling this. She _needs_ to speak to a therapist," Sansa announced, her hands balled into fists at her waist.

"We've been over this, Sansa. We can't make her _do_ anything. She needs to want it on her own," Jon said sharply, and Robb nodded in agreement. 

The nonchalance of it all sent Sansa off the edge.

"Well we can't just let her waste away in her bedroom for the rest of her life!" Sansa practically yelled, tears threatening her eyes as she stood there trembling. "It's like you don't even _care_ about her!"

Jon stood up suddenly, his jaw set firm as he began to speak. "Don't even fucking start, Sansa. She may not be my actual mother, but she might as well have been. You know what she means to me." He looked more hurt than angry now, but he simply shook his head at her and stormed away. 

"Dick move, Sansa," Arya grunted. Sansa glanced over to notice that she was sitting up now, taking in the fight.

"You _know_ I didn't mean it like that. Jon is every bit our brother as Robb, Bran, and Rickon. I don't even see things that way, I swear." Sansa swallowed hard, feeling angry at her poor choice of words.

True, Jon was not their brother by blood, but when Ned's sister and brother-by-law had passed away in a car accident he hadn't hesitated to bring Jon into their home. He'd miraculously survived the accident. They hadn't buckled his car seat in properly according to the investigator and he was thrown from the vehicle upon impact. He was just narrowly out of range when the crash went up in flames.

"Wish you'd choose your words more carefully sometimes, Sans. This has been hard enough, we don't need the drama," Robb muttered, staring at his phone and scrolling aimlessly as he spoke. "Just drop it, nothing we discuss is going to be resolved tonight."

Sansa tossed the remote back onto the sofa where Arya sat, and threw her hands into the air in submission as she retreated to the kitchen. 

Normally, she made an attempt to eat healthier. But the stress of today had her digging into the cold, congealed mac and cheese like she was starving. She ate it straight from the serving bowl with the enormous spoon. She passed on the dinosaur nuggets, as per usual. Unfortunately it wasn't easy to be a vegetarian in a house full of adults who ate like school children. There was nary a salad in sight unless Sansa was the one preparing it. Even more annoying was the absence of fruit. Speaking of which...

"Robb, c'mere. I need to talk to you," Sansa said, swallowing the mouthful of cheap noodles as she beckoned him over. 

Robb looked over the back of the couch briefly, before pushing himself off with a groan and sauntering towards the table where Sansa sat. 

"What's up?" he asked, swiping a cold chicken nugget and biting the dinosaur's head off. 

"So, I ah...I went to Sandor's house earlier to offer my condolences." 

"I figured you would. How'd that go?" 

"Honestly? Not well. It was very...strange. So, so strange. He wouldn't even open the door. Just said thanks for stopping by and then sent me away. That's weird, right? It's not just me?" Abandoning the noodles, Sansa began chewing on her thumb nail anxiously.

Robb continued chewing, giving her a 'told you so' kind of look. "We tried to tell you, Sansa. You wouldn't listen. Just ran off without a second thought."

"Tried to tell me what?" she said, confused.

"I'd imagine the reason he wouldn't come to the door is because he's all messed up now."

"Messed up? Messed up like, how?" she asked nervously.

Robb grimaced, and gestured to his own face as an example. "Like... burns. He's disfigured, Sans. Or atleast that's how Beric tells it, and I've never known him to be a liar."

Understanding washed over Sansa like a crashing wave, and her jaw dropped slightly. 

Oh, gods...Poor Sandor. It was no wonder he'd rebuked her efforts so firmly. 

She wondered briefly how he'd come to have been burned so badly, but it was largely irrelevant. He was avoiding all of his old friends because he felt they wouldn't accept him. 

"I need to go and see him again," Sansa insisted suddenly, and she made to stand from her chair. "If I tell him I know, that I understand, maybe--"

"Sansa. Stop. Sit down," Robb said, looking concerned, "I don't want you bothering him anymore. It isn't safe."

Sansa nearly laughed, it sounded so ridiculous. "Safe, Robb? Seriously? It's _Sandor_. What do you think he is, some kind of _monster_ just because he has a few scars?"

Robb gritted his teeth, his eyes rolling upwards. "Seven help me, you're not going to let this go, are you Sansa? I really didn't want to speak poorly on him, but you're forcing me..."

Sansa raised her brows with impatience, gesturing with her hand for him to get on with it.

"He's an alcoholic, Sansa. He was driving drunk and stopped to get gas when Beric saw him. He was slurring his words like crazy, and Beric said he was just angry as all hell over nothing. I don't trust him with you anymore, he isn't the same person he was when he left. Once upon a time, he might have been one of my best mates. But that time has long passed. War changes people, and an alcoholic with an anger problem isn't something you need to be involving yourself with" Robb sat back, looking at her all matter-of-factly as he crossed his arms.

"So, is that what you think our relationship is at this point? You can just _tell_ me not to talk to someone and I won't? I'm not a kid anymore, Robb. If I want to talk to Sandor I will."

"You're sure as shit acting like you're a kid right now, I'll tell you that," he narrowed his eyes at her, looking frustrated. "No, Sansa. I'm not _telling_ you what to do. I'm asking you not to because I care for you, and if you can't recognize that then you're not as mature as I thought you were." 

And with that, he shoved his chair out from under the table and sulked down the hall towards his bedroom.

Sansa let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. 

Robb was being ridiculous, Sandor would never hurt her. They had all been practically family for her entire childhood, and until tonight she had always heard Robb refer to him in only the kindest of terms.

"Man, you're just pissing everyone off tonight, huh?" Arya was leaning over the back of the couch, boasting a cat-like smile and and holding her face in her hands. 

Sansa shot her a glare, and stood to retrieve her phone from the kitchen counter where she'd abandoned it earlier. "Don't you have homework to do, Arya?" 

Arya shrugged, eyeing her with interest as she ignored her question. "So Sandor Clegane is back, huh? You must be pretty happy."

"Of course I'm happy, everyone should be. He was always close to the family." 

A loud snort cut her off. "Yeah, okay. But I know _you're_ especially happy. Happier than most."

"What are you getting at?" Sansa sighed. 

"I read your diary the summer he left, you had a big crush on him. You thought his eyes were dreamy and that he had a nice butt."

"Arya!" Sansa sputtered, feeling suddenly exposed. "That was _private!_ For how long exactly were you reading my diary?" 

Arya shrugged again, looking bored. "Until you stopped writing in it." She began counting on her fingers. "So, until tenth grade, maybe?"

Sansa was stunned. "Explain to me how you can go most of the school semester without even so much as opening a textbook, and yet you read my diary for years on end?" 

"Easy. History books don't talk about guys butts," she deadpanned, though a hint of a smirk played on her face. 

Sansa shook her head, wildly embarrassed as she tried to recall any number of humiliating things she might have written in there over the years. As she was pondering this, her cellphone buzzed in her purse. 

Expecting it was Joffrey, she immediately went to silence it. But one glance at her screen told her otherwise. An unknown number had texted her, and a slow smile crept across her face as she read it silently. 

An apologetic text from Sandor was the last thing she had been expecting, having completely forgotten that she'd penned her number onto the gift basket note.

"Stop smiling like that, you're freaking me out," Arya whined. 

"I um...I'll be in my room," Sansa said quickly, grabbing her phone as she extracted herself from her seat at the table. "Check on mom soon, please. See if she needs anything?"

Arya was already back to watching her T.V. show, and gave a grunt of acknowledgement as Sansa bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. When she got there, she closed the door and settled on the edge of her bed to read the text once more, and then three more times.

**Thank you for the basket. I apologize for being so short, I've got a lot going on right now.**

She started typing multiple times, erasing her response each time. 

**Hey, Sandor. It's no problem, I totally understand. Robb told me a bit about what you've been through--**

_Nope, too direct._

**Hi Sandor, thanks for texting me. I've really missed you--**

_Weird, too weird. He probably barely remembers you Sansa, gods._

She felt awkward and heavy handed, and no matter what combination of words she strung together, nothing felt right. Taking a deep breath, she tapped the 'call' icon on the upper right side of the screen.

_Here goes nothing._

It rang for what felt like an eternity, and just when Sansa thought it would go to voicemail she heard the crackle of the line being answered. Followed by something she absolutely hadn't expected.

"Hey, little bird."

His voice was deep and breathy, as if he was nervous. Her chest warmed at the sound, and she found herself smiling as she spoke back to him. 

"Sandor, hi...I didn't think you would answer," she said, crossing her legs as she anxiously fidgeted with the hem of her pants.

"Well, surprise," he said dryly.

An awkward silence hung between them, and Sansa racked her brain for something to say. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak.

"So, anyways, I--"

"Listen, I don't have long--"

They both stopped, realizing the other had begun to talk. 

"You first," she said, feeling even less confident now.

"I uh, I can't talk long. I ordered a pizza and it'll be here soon. So..." he sounded almost annoyed, and Sansa was a bit taken aback. 

She persisted, though. Not one to back down from a challenge. "Yum, pizza," she chirped sweetly, ignoring the fact he was trying to get her off the phone, "what kind?" 

"I think they call it..." a shuffle of papers was heard across the line, she assumed he was looking at a brochure, "meatlovers pizza."

"Oh," Sansa replied, scrunching her nose up.

He snorted on the other end. "You don't approve?"

"I don't eat meat," she said shyly, imagining how a man like Sandor might take a statement like that. It was rare that her admission of being a vegetarian was met with anything but an eye-roll or someone trying to explain to her why she _should_ eat meat. 

"Can't say that it comes as a shock to me," his gruff voice replied. 

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" she countered, feeling a bit attacked.

A dark, rasping chuckle echoed on the line, and Sansa felt her face flush instantly. His laugh sounded rougher than she remembered, like metal scraping on metal. It was intimidating, but it didn't seem cruel.

"Did that ruffle your feathers, little bird?" He paused for a moment, clearing his throat as he continued on. "When you were little you used to save every critter you could get your hands on, no matter how big or small. I remember one time you fought your mom tooth and nail to keep a frog you saved from the pool filter, almost won too. 'Til she said frogs can give you warts, then you gave up."

It was the longest she'd heard him talk yet, and a soft giggle bubbled up out of her at the memory. Here she had thought he barely remembered her, and yet he could recall the details of her frog rescue more than ten years ago. 

"Gods, that was so long ago," she whispered, unable to keep the smile from her face. 

"It was a better time," he said, sounding nearly forlorn. 

She drew in a long breath, gathering her courage before she let the words tumble out of her. "I miss you, Sandor," she paused for a beat, before quickly adding, "...we all do." It wasn't exactly a lie. Sansa knew her brothers missed him, even if they were being overly cautious right now. 

He didn't respond, and she wasn't exactly surprised. It was a directly emotional statement, and he didn't strike her as the type to return the sentiment. 

She swallowed hard, waiting. Just as she was about to break the silence, she heard his doorbell chime on his end. 

"That'll be your food," she said sadly, knowing this was the end of their conversation.

"Yeah, that's it. It was uh, nice to catch up with you. Have a good nigh--"

"Can I call you again tomorrow?" Sansa blurted, suddenly.

More silence, and this time it was even more deafening. Blood thundered in her ears, and she was sure her entire face was a solid shade of pink as he considered what she offered. Or perhaps, what the obligation of talking to her really meant for him.

"...Alright," Sandor said, his tone guarded. 

"Alright," Sansa parroted back to him, unable to smother the giddiness out of her tone. "Have a nice evening, Sandor. Enjoy your pizza."

"'Night, Sansa," he grunted in reply, and she heard the line click after that.

Her phone fell from her hand onto the comforter, and Sansa was grinning from ear to ear as she flopped back onto her pillows.

_He didn't say no._

It was absolutely the oddest, most awkward phone conversation she'd ever had. 

And yet she was already counting the minutes until she could call him again.


	5. New Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I lied, single chapter update! But it's decently long so I hope that makes up for it. The next one is gonna be a -very- juicy one and I can't wait to get started on it!

The slam of the weights reverberated in the garage when they slipped from his fingers, accompanied by the sound of a strained grunt. Sandor rolled his shoulders to stretch them out and sweat trickled off his face, staining the neckline of his shirt. One stroke of his hand through his hair told him it was drenched, the long strands leading water droplets down onto his shoulders. He only gave himself a few moments before scooping the dumbbells back up and starting his reps again. 

He just couldn't get enough of the burn tonight, and there was no doubt in his mind what was causing such a desperate need. He'd passed over his usual nightcap and gone straight for the weights.

_"Can I call you tomorrow?"_

She'd asked so sweetly he couldn't bear to say no, even though the word had been on the tip of his tongue. There wasn't anything more to be said. So what the fuck was she even playing at? They weren't long lost friends, or estranged lovers. She was the kid sister of a high school friend, nothing more. 

He dropped the weights again, his grunt sounding more like a snarl this time. Sandor paced the dank room a few times as he caught his breath, eyes darting around as he took in his father's belongings. 

Tools were strewn on one side of the garage, along with empty paint cans and tons of other shit that old people liked to keep. But what was catching his eye was the ancient treadmill half covered by a tarp. Lifting weights was something he could do for hours, but running? Nothing knocked Sandor out like running. It had been one of the few things he struggled with after joining the military.

He moved towards it, pushing the dusty tarp off and visually assessing the machine. The thing was damn small, he'd be more likely to crush it before he got even a lap in...if it even still worked, that is. Dirt had settled into every nook and cranny of the buttons. Still, he climbed up onto it and held the railings as he gave it a firm stomp as a test. 

The machine creaked loudly under his feet, and the vague sound of something snapping followed.

_Well, fuck that that then._

The old man always did like to buy junk, the shitty little piece of equipment that he'd just ruined was probably from an TV ad. He shook his head in memory as he snatched up his phone and checked the time.

1:32 a.m.

The roads were definitely deserted at this time of night, Sandor was certain. He decided it couldn't hurt to run outside instead. So he wandered back into the house and grabbed his sweatshirt. Tugging the hood up into place and securing the drawstrings, he exited through the garage and slammed the door shut behind him as he pocketed his keys. 

He gave the empty street one last cursory glance before he took off in a steady jog. It'd been a long fucking time since he'd been for a run, and he found his legs burning quicker than he thought they would. Familiar streets came and went, and with each of them the occasional memory came roaring into his mind. Friends houses from when he was younger, places he used to ride his bike, parties he'd gone to in the summer... It seemed like more than a lifetime ago, and he willed the memories away as he grit his teeth.

It was a warm night, too hot for his damned sweatshirt. But it served an important purpose, so he kept it on as he pushed himself through his run. The rhythmic sound of his feet slamming on the pavement was distracting, and he found himself taking a different route back than the way he came without really meaning to. Sandor stopped dead in his tracks as he came to a crossroads. 

Where Winterfell lane met Hornwood place. 

Hornwood was the quicker route back to his house as far as distance, but it was largely uphill. Winterfell was more winding, but the ground was flatter. His nostrils flared as he deliberated for a moment, knowing full well that he had brought himself this way on purpose. His subconscious apparently liked to fuck with him.

_What are you going to see at two in the morning, you idiot? It's not like she's sitting on her fucking porch waiting for you to run by._

He couldn't help himself, and he cursed silently his lack of self control as he started down Winterfell. 

The Stark's house was the biggest on the street by far, all grey stone with white accents. He remembered thinking it looked like a castle as a kid, and he felt the same way now. The driveway was absolutely packed with cars, and he slowed to a walk as he eyed them each individually. 

He immediately recognized Sansa's car from earlier, a modest white sedan parked on the street. It struck him as odd, he expected a girl like Sansa to have a mid-range or even a luxury car. It wasn't as if her family couldn't afford it.

A purple bumper sticker caught his eye, and he looked around for a moment as he debated crossing the street to get a closer look. "Fuck me," he growled, unable to suppress his curiosity, he ducked his head as he moved towards the rear of the car.

A slow smirk spread across his face as he made out the words.

_**Vegetarians** _ _have no_ **beef** _with anyone_

It was fucking corny, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face as he shook his head and kept on walking. He was about to turn his gaze away from the stone mansion when he noticed the glow of a bedroom light through one of the windows on the second story. The shades were drawn and the window was wide open to the night air. His mouth ran dry at the sight.

Sansa was sitting at a desk, typing away at her computer. Her long red hair tied back in a high ponytail, and she was donning a chunky set of headphones. Everything inside of him screamed for him to turn the fuck away and walk home, but he couldn't help himself. He'd gotten a glimpse of her in the peephole earlier today, but that had been distorted and brief. 

This was different, and Sandor felt like a fucking creep for watching her like this, but he couldn't stop staring. 

Sansa bopped her head around a bit to whatever song she was listening to, still typing all the while. As though she had hit the chorus of the song, she squeezed her eyes shut and held up her fist to her mouth as if she were singing into a microphone. Her beautiful face was focused and tense as she belted out the tune with all her heart.

He could only faintly hear her voice, and he meandered closer like a moth to a flame, too intrigued to realize that he was practically on the sidewalk in front of their house at this point. Sandor still couldn't make out every word she sang, but the soft melody of her voice fell from her window onto his awaiting ears. 

He was so entranced by her that he didn't even notice the stray cat wandering by his feet, until it suddenly pressed against his leg and let out a piercing meow. Sandor jumped back suddenly, startled, releasing a string of expletives as his eyes flew down towards the black cat. He crashed backwards into Sansa's car, and the alarm started blaring loudly. 

" _Buggering bastard!"_ he hissed, and he saw that Sansa was rising up from her computer with a perplexed look on her face as she made her way towards the window to find the source of the noise. 

He quickly rounded her car and tore down the street, not daring to glance back. Every dog in the neighborhood was barking and howling at the shrill sound of her car alarm blaring into the night, and his feet carried him faster. Blood thundered in his ears, and he ducked his head low as he made his way through the neighborhoods. 

He didn't even slow down to absorb what had just happened, and by the time he'd reached his house he was gasping for breath. He fumbled with the front door, nearly breaking his key in the lock as he stumbled inside and slammed the door shut behind him. Collapsing onto the couch, he raked his fingers through his hair and dragged his nails across his scalp so hard that it hurt. 

"Fucking idiot," he snarled at himself breathlessly, the implications suddenly washing over him. He'd stood outside her window, staring up at her like some kind of peeping fucking tom. Had she seen? And if she had, did she know it was him? The bloody cops would be knocking at his door shortly, no doubt.

His thoughts plagued him as he disrobed, shedding layers of clothes as he moved through the house like a zombie until he found himself standing at the foot of his bed in just his briefs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he was sure there would be no sleeping after this. But still he laid on the bed, pulling a crumpled sheet over himself as he turned onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. 

He could still see the worried look on her face as she got up to investigate the sound of the noise, what followed that? Did she see him running away, or worse, had she seen his face? Had her neighbors heard the noise and looked out their windows to see him bolting down the street like a damned criminal? 

His mind wandered for hours, until sleep took him sometime around 4:30 in the morning. 

* * * * * *

"Son of a bitch!" Sandor growled to himself, stepping back quickly as he threw the old rubber tire to the ground a few feet away. He'd been trying to clean up the backyard for the last few hours, trying to sort through the garbage that had been long abandoned in the weedy yard. His father had never been a clean man, and he tended to hoard junk. The combination left Sandor digging through piles of old newspaper, bags of cans, and more recently picking up an old bald tire.

Which, happened to have three snakes hiding under it. They hissed at him angrily, exposed from their rubber sanctuary so suddenly. 

He let out a deep sigh and paced towards the back porch. He turned around and stared around at his work, not seeing much of a change. Weeds sprouted everywhere in the yard, and where there weren't weeds there was garbage. It would take at least a week to clear out this mess, and he'd done fuckall except for this today. Sandor had awoken mid-afternoon to the horrible realization that the evening before hadn't been a nightmare. 

He'd completely skipped over his day-trading and tackled the backyard project, finding that it at least kept his mind occupied.

Well, for the most part.

Sandor found himself glancing at his phone nervously at least once every fifteen minutes, expecting an angry text from Sansa about how he'd been staring into her window the night before. 

But as the day dragged on and his phone stayed silent, his tension dissolved. She likely hadn't seen him, otherwise she would have called the police or told him off at this point. By the time the time the summer sun was setting, Sandor was drenched in sweat from all the heavy lifting.

He finally gave up for the day, making his way to the bathroom for a shower. The cool water ran down his face and hair, washing away the dirt and sweat that had built up. It felt so good that he found himself relaxing as he scrubbed at his skin, careful to avoid his scars, as he washed his face. After changing into a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, he settled on the couch with a beer and flicked on the TV.

Sandor was two hours deep into a history special when his phone began to vibrate against his leg in his pocket, and he grew tense all over at the sensation. He didn't even have to check the number to know who it was, no one else would be calling him at 10:40 at night. 

With shaky fingers he retrieved his phone, and saw the vaguely familiar number. He swiped to answer the call, and brought it to his ear. 

"Hey," he said gruffly, grabbing the remote to mute the TV quickly.

"Hey yourself," Sansa replied, her voice warm and welcoming. "I wasn't sure if you'd answer this late, I had a bit of homework to do and I lost track of time."

"Homework?" he grunted in response, fidgeting with a loose string on his jeans as he tried to count back the years to determine her age. "Not still in high school, are you?"

"Seriously, Sandor? No, I am _not_ in high school. I'm in college." Her tone was offended, with a bit of mock-hurt. "I go to Kings University, full time."

He could tell she wasn't really angry, but he felt like a bit of an asshole suddenly. If he was remembering right, Sansa should be about nineteen by now. 

"Sorry," he said tersely. "It's been a long time, I barely remember how old I am half the time to tell you the truth."

"You're twenty-six," she said all matter-of-factly, and he felt his face grow hot.

"You've got a good memory."

"Only for important things."

He barked out a laugh at that, a smile curling onto his lips. "That hardly counts as important, little bird." 

"To me it is," she said, her voice curiously soft. 

A silence fell between them again, and Sandor hated it. Hated that he felt like he had no right to even be speaking to her, hated that this was so easy for her and so hard for him.

"I want to see you," she said all of the sudden. "In person. It's been such a long time and I'd like to get together to talk and catch up."

There it was. 

The very thing he'd wanted to avoid. There wasn't any conversation to be had without explaining himself, and he had two choices. Hang the fuck up and never speak to her again, or tell her all the shitty, gory details of the last few years of his life. And then, never speak to her again. 

She deserved the truth.

"Sansa," he croaked lowly, his throat having run dry. "There's something you need to know, something I didn't tell you. It's the reason I didn't answer the door yesterday--"

"It's okay, Sandor. I know," she said in a reassuring voice, and he felt his stomach bottom out as she continued on. "You see, the other day I was talking to Robb and--Well, never mind. It doesn't matter how I know, but I know now. I understand why you didn't want to open the door yesterday."

His skin prickled with discomfort, and he was squeezing his phone so hard in his hand that it might break. All the confidence he'd been gathering to try and tell her had disappeared. She'd heard all the nasty details, and there was no sugar coating it anymore. He moved to hang up the call, but as he did he heard her gentle voice once more.

"I don't care about your scars," she whispered.

He gritted his teeth, drawing in a breath as he spoke through clenched teeth. "You don't understand, Sansa. Whatever you're imagining, it's worse. _Believe me._ "

"I don't care," she repeated evenly. "I want to see you."

"That's not happening, Sansa." He felt sick, and whatever small pleasures he had taken in talking to her briefly in the last few days were now gone. Sansa didn't understand, and she never would. 

"I just want to talk face to face. Please don't judge me so harshly, Sandor... I'm not that kind of person."

Sandor swallowed hard, starting to feel weak under the pressure of her pleas. "No, Sansa."

She sighed deeply on the other end. 

"It hardly seems fair," she mused, sounding suddenly cryptic.

"What does?" 

"Just, y'know... The fact you've seen me, and I haven't seen you." 

He felt sweat prickle at the back of his neck as he weighed her words, wondering what she meant.

"I barely even looked through the peephole when you came by the other day, little bird. And even then that's hardly the same as seeing each other face to face."

"I'm not talking about when I came by yesterday, Sandor," she whispered. "I'm talking about the fact you were outside my house last night."

_No fucking way._

He stilled suddenly. Too stunned to even hang up the call, his breath caught in his throat.

"I mean, I'm pretty sure that was you at least. There aren't many people as tall as you around here. Not that I've ever seen," she didn't sound angry, but her words had him mentally roaring inside.

"Sansa, I can explain," he rasped quietly, fearing the worst. He needed her to know he wasn't some kind of fucking pervert, that he didn't--

"If you want to explain, then fine. I'll give you that opportunity, but not over the phone like this. Meet me in half an hour. Highway 7E, mile-marker 5.3. There's a pull off area there on the right, and about 100 feet away is a big hill with a tree. Meet me there."

"Sansa--" 

"Don't worry, Sandor," she said with a smile in her voice, and all the hairs on his arms stood on end at the sound. "It's a new moon tonight, I won't see a thing."

And before he could even begin to argue with her, his phone beeped signaling that the call had ended. He withdrew it from his ear and stared at the screen, feeling numb.

_What in seven hells just happened?_

Sandor was only sure of one thing, and that was that he wouldn't go. 

Couldn't go.

Sandor stood off the couch and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a pen off the table and biting the cap off. He quickly jotted down 'Highway 7E - Mile-marker 5.3' onto his wrist and grabbed his phone to look it up. 

It was incredibly obscure, and he found himself wondering for a moment how she even came to know of somewhere so out of the way. 

"Little bird is out of her damn mind," he growled, checking the time. Five minutes had gone by since their call, and he considered calling her back and telling her he wasn't going. Somehow, he knew she wouldn't answer. 

The thought of her waiting for him on the side of a desolate highway, all alone, made his skin crawl. Perhaps she realized that too. He was a bastard in most rights, but he wasn't the type of man to leave her waiting in an unsafe place. 

He uttered a few curses as he grabbed his jacket off of the back of a kitchen chair and shrugged it on, tossing his keys and wallet into his pockets swiftly. Before he knew what he was doing, he was out the door and sliding into the seat of his truck. 

As he pulled out of the driveway, he plugged the road into his GPS and started off towards her. He grit his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief.

_Out of her mind, or damn clever?_


	6. Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, let me know what you think of this one. It's also dialogue heavy, but for good reason. <3

Sansa stared at her phone after she ended the call for a moment, feeling suddenly anxious despite all the bravado she'd just demonstrated. She set the phone on Do Not Disturb, lest Joffrey start texting her in the middle of this. Tonight, she couldn't be bothered with his nonsense and she'd already submitted his homework earlier so that he would leave her be.

She pulled down her visor mirror and gave herself a quick once-over, though she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if he'd _see_ her tonight, that was kind of the point. 

Out of an abundance of caution, Sansa grabbed her fruit lip gloss that she'd abandoned a week earlier in the passenger seat of her car and spread on a thin layer. She rubbed her lips together and fixed a small smudge with her finger, and examined herself for a few more moments before flipping the visor back up.

Fumbling with her ignition, she withdrew her keys and slid them into her front pocket as she exited the car. The highway was especially empty this time of night, something she had expected--and, quite frankly, depended on. She'd waited to call Sandor until she was already at the meeting spot, needing to be sure that she got there before him. 

Working quickly, she retrieved her emergency blanket from the backseat of her car and slammed the door. The sound echoed in the night air, and Sansa barely made it two steps on the gravel turnoff before tripping. She could make out the shape of the tree on the hill in the distance, it's silhouette barely showing against the black night sky. She hadn't just been saying it to make Sandor feel more comfortable, it really _was_ dark tonight.

With the help of her cellphones flashlight, she made her way on the familiar dirt path to the hill. The hot night air had her sweating a bit as she reached the top, and the sight of the old gnarled oak tree greeted her. 

Stumbling past the thick roots that jutted out of the ground, Sansa extended her hand to brush against the coarse bark searchingly. Her fingertips found the familiar grooves, and as she traced the carved letters tears stung at the corner of her eyes. 

_'Sansa loves Daddy'_

The pain hit her hard and fast, and she had to tilt back her head to keep her tears from spilling down her cheeks. She swallowed hard and gently pulled away from the tree as she fanned out the blanket, not really able to see if it settled evenly. Still, she plunked herself down unceremoniously and sat with her ankles crossed as she waited. 

As her eyes began to adjust, Sansa could make out the shapes of the leaves above her on the tree. The stars were the only thing that rendered light tonight, and she was grateful for it. 

Some twenty minutes passed, and an insecure part of her brain worried that Sandor wouldn't come. After all, she'd essentially blackmailed him in a way. 

True, she'd been startled to see a man who looked like him running away from her house last night when her car alarm was blaring so nearby. But she could tell he had been wearing workout clothes, and surmised he was going for a run. She hadn't _actually_ known for sure that it had been him, or that he had even been watching her through her window, but his reaction on the phone told her that she'd been spot on in that assumption. 

She wasn't angry, either. In a way it was her own damn fault for sitting there with her curtains wide open, any creep could have been staring at her in the dark. Luckily, it had only been Sandor.

 _Not that Sandor's a creep or anything,_ she corrected herself mentally, a smirk playing across her face. 

But that little stunt he'd pulled had given her exactly what she needed, in truth. An excuse to see him in person, and a reason for him to show up. 

In the distance, two glaring headlights came into view suddenly. Her heart jumped in her chest at the sight, hopeful. 

As the beams of light made their way towards her, Sansa made out the shape of a truck. _His_ truck. When it drew nearer, the lights cut off suddenly and switched to the dull glow of the daytime running lights as it pulled in next to her car.

She chuckled quietly at his quickness to dim his lights. He wasn't taking any chances, was he? 

Sansa heard him cut the engine, and all was dark again as the slam of his door greeted her ears. Out of nervousness, she rose to her feet and strained to make out his shape in the dark. She could see movement as he made his way up the path, and Sansa wondered how he didn't trip as she had. 

Finally, he made it to the top of the hill and paused a few yards from her. Likely gauging if she was able to see him or not. Which, she wasn't.

He was tall, taller than she remembered, but that was about it as far as Sansa could tell. 

"Hi, Sandor," she said softly, feeling a bit unnerved at the ominous dark figure who was staring at her in silence.

She could hear him breathing as he moved closer, the sound of his boots scuffing in the grass and dirt. 

Vaguely in the dark, she could see the motion of one of his arms waving about in front of her face, and Sansa grinned softly at his apprehensiveness. 

"I can't see you Sandor, just barely. Don't be afraid."

He scoffed at that. "I'm not bloody afraid, Sansa." 

"Good. You shouldn't be," she said, moving closer to him. In the dark, she reached blindly towards where she thought his hand might be. Instead her fingertips brushed against his lower abdomen, feeling the soft cotton of his t-shirt and the hard muscles underneath. 

He recoiled instantly, pulling away from her with a sharp intake of breath. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" She said nervously, blush creeping across her cheeks. "I was just, um, trying to take your hand. I have a blanket on the ground for us to sit on." 

When he didn't say anything for a few moments, Sansa bravely reached out again. She was surprised to find that he had extended his grasp to her this time. She grabbed it gently, stifling a gasp at how large his felt around hers. His hand enveloped hers, and she was suddenly worried that her palms were sweaty. 

She tugged him gently in the direction of her blanket, and slowly began to sit down when she found it, leading her with him. 

Fidgeting for a moment, she tried to think of something to say. But he beat her to it this time.

"What are we doing here, little bird? What is this?" His voice was guarded, full of mistrust. 

"Those are two different questions, really," she mused, staring at him in the blackness even though all she could make out was that there was a dark shape sitting next to her. "We're here because this is the only situation I could think of in which you would meet me in person. It's far enough away from King's Landing that there's no light pollution from homes or street lights. It was the darkest place I could think of."

"Lucky for you," he grunted, and she could tell by how distant his voice sounded that he had turned his head away from her as he spoke. Perhaps still self conscious that she might be able to see him. "Why here, though? The side of an abandoned highway... It's strange as fuck, Sansa."

She drew in her breath and willed herself not to cry. "My dad used to take me here, when I was little. It was his favorite place to watch the sunset. We'd have a picnic that basically only included peanut butter and jelly because that was all he could make, and then after the sun went down we would catch fireflies." The memories hurt to remember, and she was glad suddenly to not be alone in this place. She hadn't been here since before her dad had passed. 

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "Your dad was a good man. Welcomed me into your house like I was his own son." 

"Yeah," she sniffed softly, smiling to herself. "He really liked you. He was sad when you left, used to ask Robb if he'd heard from you and how you were doing all the time."

She heard him swallow hard next to her, and Sansa felt awkward suddenly that she was making this all about herself and her dad. Sandor didn't need to share in her sadness, he had enough of his own to contend with.

"Anyways, that's not why I asked you to come here--"

" _Asked_ me?" he interrupted, his voice stern. "That's a pretty little way of saying _demanded_ or _forced_."

She giggled quietly, feeling sheepish as she shot back her own jab. "I don't think it's that much of an inconvenience, honestly. After all, I did catch you peeping at me the other night." She poked at him, nudging his arm playfully with her finger. 

Sandor growled quietly and he grabbed her finger suddenly, practically crushing her tiny palm in his as he turned to face her in the dark.

"I wasn't fucking _peeping_ at you, Sansa," he was so close now that she felt the warmth of his breath against her face. It smelled like mint with a faint trail of tobacco. She was vaguely aware of the fact that he was still clutching her hand and that his fingertips were trembling.

"Then what _were_ you doing?" she said softly, subconsciously licking her lips. He was close enough to kiss, his massive silhouette looming over her in a way that should have been menacing. But instead all it did was send her heart racing. Why was she thinking about _kissing_ him? 

He pulled away then, releasing her palm and sitting back where he had been before his near outburst. Sansa found herself missing the warmth of his touch as he spoke. 

"I was just out for a run, and I passed by your house. I was just...looking at it, I guess. Remembering. Then I noticed your bloody window was wide open and so were your drapes, and as I was going to leave I got startled by some stray cat and bumped into your car which set the fucking alarm off. It wasn't anything perverted," his voice was defensive and yet somehow uncertain as he spoke.

Sansa thought for a moment, weighing his story. She didn't quite believe him, but she didn't want to challenge him and make him angry. That wasn't why she had brought him here.

"Okay, I believe you. But you might not want to advertise the fact that all it takes to scare you is a _cat,_ " she mocked, grinning. 

" _You_ might not want to advertise to your entire neighborhood that you're bopping around in your room at two in the fucking morning with the blinds wide open," he said in an annoyed voice. "And I'm not afraid of cats, that one just snuck up on me."

"What do you care if my drapes are open or not?" she teased back, liking that he was getting riled up and protective of her.

"I'm serious, Sansa. You can't do that shit, not even in your fancy little neighborhood. There are actual _real_ perverts out there who would jump at the chance to spy on a pretty girl at night, so quit fucking around." He sounded tense now, anxious for her. But that wasn't what Sansa was focusing on at the moment.

"You think I'm pretty?" she murmured, her lips curling up into a smile as she realized what he'd said. 

Sandor was silent for a few moments, until he finally let out a deep sigh. "Any man would say the same, little bird. I'm just speaking the truth of what I see."

It was the most begrudging compliment she'd ever received in her life, but her chest warmed all the same. It was far more sincere than anything Joffrey had ever said to her, and that was what mattered the most. 

He broke her silent daze with the sound of him clearing his throat, and she snapped back to reality suddenly.

"I should uh, I should be going," he said, shifting next to her slightly. 

"Please, don't go," Sansa said quickly, grabbing his arm to stop him from getting up. Her palm didn't even encircle half of his bicep, and her eyes widened in the dark as she realized that. 

_How big was he, exactly?_

"I explained myself to you Sansa, that's what I came here to do and now it's done. So, if--"

"I want to be friends," she said quickly, hating how childish and desperate that sounded. So she slowed down a bit, sighing. "I want to know you again, Sandor. Please, stay for a while and talk."

He stopped moving beside her, and she felt him settle back onto the blanket again. Her heart stopped racing, and she calmed as she realized he wasn't leaving her. 

"What is it you want to talk about?" his voice was hesitant, but she found comfort in the fact he hadn't run away from her.

"Anything and everything. Tell me about you. Where you've been, where you're going. How long you're staying in King's Landing for?" 

"Pass," Sandor grunted, and she heard what sounded like him scratching at his beard and was suddenly intrigued at the notion that he had a beard. He'd been nearly a bare faced teenage boy last time she'd seen him. "Tell me about you, little bird. What are you going to school for?"

"Business, with a focus in finance. I won't bore you with the details, it's not a line of work most people find interesting... Sometimes I wonder why I even chose to pursue it, honestly."

He chuckled lowly in the dark beside her, and the deviant sound had her blushing. 

"What's so funny?" she asked nervously.

"Nothing, nothing at all," he replied in a humored voice. "You like it there at K.U.? All those little cunt frat boys living around campus. I'm sure they bother you all the time."

Sansa bit her lip nervously, reminded suddenly of Joffrey's desire for them to live together near the campus so that they could be closer to the frat parties. His analysis was off, but yet so spot on that it hurt. 

"Touched a nerve there, did I?" Sandor mocked, when she didn't reply for a few moments. "Don't tell me you're dating one of those shallow arse lickers." 

"It's...complicated," she said finally, not wanting to talk about it with him.

"Anyone I know?" 

_Oh, hells._

"Uh, maybe," she said in a low voice, twirling a strand of hair as she worked up the nerve. "Joffrey Baratheon." 

"You're fucking messing with me," Sandor rasped in the darkness, and Sansa shrunk into herself, humiliated. 

"I'm serious."

He was dead silent for a few moments. 

"Well, I sure fucking called that one, didn't I?" he said sarcastically, letting out a snort. 

"I don't want to talk about Joffrey," she said defensively. "Please, it's embarrassing enough."

Sandor seemed to be weighing her words, and his tone was inquiring when he spoke again. "What are you embarrassed of him for? I'm sure he's still the rich little blond cunt he always was, unless something's changed."

"Nothing's changed. Still blond. Still Rich. Still a... C-word," Sansa shied away from repeating his language, but she was hot in the face from how humiliating it was to talk about her boyfriend with him. "Why is it so surprising to you that I could be embarrassed of him? You think being rich means he's automatically prize?"

"Just speaking from experience, little bird. Girls are never embarrassed of cocksuckers like Joffrey Baratheon, no matter what they bloody do. They're usually embarrassed of ugly fuckers like me, or poor bastards who don't have a dime to their name." 

"Don't say that," she gasped quietly, her heart aching at how he deprecated himself. 

"What, cocksuckers?" she could hear him smirking as he spoke. 

"No, not that. The thing you said about yourself." 

He snorted loudly as the realization dawned on him. "Ugly? Little bird, it's far from the worst thing anyone has ever said about me. And it's true."

"It's _not_ true," she argued, her voice raising up a few pitches. 

"It is. You don't know, Sansa. You don't understand," his voice lost all familiarity, and he sounded distant again. Like he was ready to close off from her and leave.

Her mouth ran dry as she steeled herself for what she was about to do. 

"You're right, Sandor. I don't understand. But I want to," she whispered, leaning closer to him.

"Sansa--"

With every ounce of bravery she had in her, she lifted her hand to the shadow of him in the dark. Her fingers brushed against his collar bone as she attempted to feel her way towards his face. He jerked away quickly realizing what she was trying to do.

"Don't be afraid," she murmured soothingly, shifting to sit on her knees in front of him. "I won't judge you, Sandor. I promise." 

When he didn't say anything in protest to stop her, she took a long shaky breath before resuming her inquisitive touch. She found his jawline with ease, noting that his beard was coarse there. Sansa ached to bury her fingers into it, but she pressed on and ignored her strange urges for the time being. 

She discovered that his beard faded off the right side of his jaw, and she brushed the backs of her knuckles against the skin she found there. It was bumpy and hard, distorted to the point that it no longer felt like skin anymore. It continued on that way, and she found that his entire cheek was marred. The flesh was pitted and twisted, and the scar tissue was so thick in some places that it felt more like bone. His cheek twitched with irritation under her touch, but Sansa ignored it. She felt that he was missing an eyebrow on this side, and that the scars went up into his hairline. Her fingers grazed the sinewy flesh there, until her touch met hair. 

It was soft, maybe the softest thing she'd ever felt. And long, too. She hadn't expected his hair to be so lengthy, he'd kept it short in his youth. She ran her fingers through his locks slowly in one long stroke, until she felt the gnarled flesh of his ear-- or rather, what was once his ear.

Sandor made a horrified choking sound suddenly, and she realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time.

"That's _enough_ ," he growled, grabbing her wrist and prying her hand off of him. 

"Oh, Sandor," she sobbed softly, having been so absorbed in her touch that she didn't even notice she was crying for him. 

"I don't want your pity," he snarled, his breathing rough and strained as if he'd just ran a mile. 

"I'm not pitying you, Sandor," she said softly, wiping her tears on the back of her arm as she sniffled. "I _hurt_ for you. My heart aches, and not just because of what happened to you. But because you think that you need to hide yourself from everyone, even people who care about you."

"Is that what you want me to believe, Sansa? That you care about me? That I'm not a fucking monster?" he laughed cynically, the sound sick and tortured. "Spare me the bullshit lies and pretty words, _little bird_. You're not my savior, no one is. So get that out of your fucking head." He practically spit the nickname as an insult this time, and he was on his feet before Sansa realized it. 

She sat there in awe, feeling a pit growing in her stomach as he snarled at her. She hardly even registered the sound of his retreating footsteps, and the engine of his truck roared in the distance. 

The sound of his tires skidding on the gravel sent her tears flowing hot and fast, and she collapsed onto the blanket in a sobbing mess as he sped away. 

Sansa cried for what felt like hours, until her face was raw and irritated. 

She cried for her dad and how she wished he was here, for herself and how lonely she felt, but mostly she cried for Sandor and how much he hated himself.

Everything was fucked up now, and it was definitely her fault.


	7. Both Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This fic has undergone some minor plot changes/major dialogue changes since my last update. I would suggest a re-read for cohesion.**
> 
> I don't have any excuses for why I haven't updated in so long, so I won't give you any.  
> Please accept my apologies, and this chapter, as consolation.

Sandor swerved hard and almost rolled his truck into a ditch to avoid hitting a deer, spewing expletives louder than he already had been. 

His heart pounded in his chest, and while it should have been because of the fact he'd nearly splattered an animal, it was really because of Sansa. Her words rang in his head, and his skin burned as hot as fire where she had touched him.

_I won't judge you_

_Oh, Sandor_

_I hurt for you_

What a load of fucking bullshit.

He stepped on the gas, his truck roaring in protest as the speedometer pushed 100 on the old shitty back road. Sandor needed to get far away from that damned hill.

His mind raced wildly as he drove, trying to make sense of what had happened back there. How she'd trapped him into coming, taken every excuse to touch him on the hand or arm, laughed at some of his comments so warmly, she'd nearly been _flirting_ with him...

And then how it all fell to fucking shit when she insisted on touching his face.

He could have stopped her, sure. But he didn't. He wanted it to all play out, knowing she'd react with disgust as so many others had. Then he could make a clean exit away from her feeling only a little worse than he had before she'd barged into his life. 

Instead, she'd traced every line on his twisted face and cried for him. He'd felt her pretty little tears splashing onto his arms as she touched his mangled skin. 

As if he were someone worth crying over.

Sandor found himself parked in the driveway to his house and he realized that he had completely spaced out the drive back having been so deep in thought.

He made his way into the house with urgency, nearly stumbling in his haste. A new feeling taking over him and pushing aside the anger that had consumed him on the drive. Burning need prickled over every inch of his skin, and thoughts of Sansa clouded his vision as he made his way to his room.

He could still feel her touch on him now, when she'd inadvertently brushed against his stomach. Held his hand. Grabbed his arm. How gently she had stroked his scars, rather than recoiling in repulsion. 

Sandor's eyes grew hooded with a feeling of desire stronger than anything he'd experienced in years. Standing in the doorway of his bedroom, he pressed his palm against the bulge in his jeans and willed the need the go away. 

He remembered suddenly the faint scent of peaches that had wafted from her lips when she leaned in close, and the thought of it made him groan as he surrendered himself to the urge. He unzipped his jeans quickly, freeing his cock and palming himself in his hand roughly as he began to stroke the length of it. He braced one arm above his head, digging his fingers into the lip of the door frame to hold his weight. 

It felt clumsy at first, Sandor hadn't had the inspiration to touch himself in well over a year. But he closed his eyes anyways and conjured up the memory of her touch, how velvety soft her fingers had felt against his face. The way she'd accidentally brushed her fingertips against his lower lip in the dark, he'd grown a little hard even then. 

Sandor found his rhythm as he imagined pressing his half-scarred mouth to hers, tasting the peaches on her lips and claiming her delicate tongue with his. He pictured knotting his fist into her fiery hair and holding her in place as he parted her soft lips with his own.

The thought made him groan aloud, and he quickened his motions in response, chasing the release that he so desperately needed. 

He imagined, instead, her supple fingers stroking his cock rather than his face. Her touch curious and gentle at first, big blue eyes staring up as she knelt in front of him and worked his shaft. 

"Fuck, Sansa," he growled breathily, his fist tight around the head of his cock as he rubbed it in shallow, quick motions. It was slick with his desire, and the warm wet sensation had his mind wandering to even filthier places. He thought of pretty Sansa Stark taking him into her mouth, her pink tongue stroking his tip languidly as she sucked on him. Her soft lips wrapped tight around his shaft as she struggled to take him deeper-- 

The mental picture alone was enough to send him over the edge. Sandor crushed the door frame in his hand, feeling the wood crack as he bore down on it. A deep mangled groan erupted from his chest as he spilled his seed into his palm, pleasure ripping through him so intensely that he lost his vision for a moment. His breath came out in gasps, and he eased his iron grip on the door slowly as he came down off his release. 

He stared at the mess in his palm, his jaw still clenched as the lustful hazed cleared and his room came into focus around him. He felt utterly thrown at his intense attraction to her, at how little it took to send him burning with desire for her.

_What the fuck was that?_

Sandor immediately tucked his cock away with his clean hand, and went to the bathroom to wash his shame away, still shaken from the magnitude of his release. 

When he had cleaned himself off, he went back to the bedroom and sat on his bed, burying his face in his palms as he tried to make sense of the night. 

He'd been lured to the middle of nowhere, where he talked to Sansa and she touched his face and it made her cry. Then he raged at her and left, and somehow ended up jerking his dick off to the thought of her.

 _That about sums it up, you fucking pervert_. 

Guilt grew heavy in his chest as he laid back on the bed, and he cursed himself silently. 

Sansa had tried to bridge the gap between them that she didn't understand, tried to show him she wasn't afraid and did it out of the kindness of her heart. She hadn't been disgusted, or run screaming. Instead she'd touched his scars gently and wept for his hardships. 

Bastard that he was he'd used that brief, tender memory for his own pleasure...but not before he had made her feel like fucking dirt.

And as if that all wasn't bad enough, she was only nineteen and had a boyfriend to boot. 

His thoughts were full of self-loathing as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

* * * * * * *

Sandor awoke around ten in the morning to his phone buzzing, and briefly dread set in as he imagined it might be Sansa texting him to tell him off. 

With bleary eyes, he squinted at the screen.

**B. Greyjoy: PYK stock, can u buy 10,000 shares?**

Sandor sighed and dragged his palm over his face, feeling exasperated. Part of him wanted to take the old man's money and just do the investment, it would be nearly a four thousand dollar commission, but he knew it wouldn't bode well for the future and could lose him the account if it under performed. At least once a month he was texted a buy request by Balon Greyjoy and usually it was an ill informed one.

He quickly tapped out a reply.

**SC: Not a good idea to buy that many shares right now, it's a bear market. PYK reached its five year peak two weeks ago and given what I've read it's headed down for the foreseeable future.**

Sandor waited a few minutes for a response, and when he didn't receive one he placed his phone back on the night stand and tried to eke out a few more hours of sleep. Though, unfortunately, it seemed he was up for the day as he couldn't manage to fall back asleep.

He busied himself for the morning by managing his clients brokerage accounts and selling where he found it appropriate, and it was nearly enough to keep his mind off of Sansa.

Nearly. 

The rest of the day was spent working out and cleaning up the backyard, something Sandor had seriously neglected since moving in. His father had left the house in his will to Sandor and Gregor, split. Maybe the old man had really thought he was doing Sandor a favor, for once in his life.

Sandor fumed at the thought of his brother, and he found himself hurling the cinder blocks into the trash pile especially hard as if he were throwing them at Gregor himself. 

_"Take care of the house, will you? Fix it up, clean it out, whatever you have to do. Sell it and let me know when it's done."_

Gregor had thumped him on the back and walked away without another word that day, and it had taken everything in Sandor's power not to grab Gregor by the throat and strangle him to death in front of all the strangers and distant relatives at their father's funeral. 

It was a hate that ran deep, one that poisoned Sandor to his very soul. The things Gregor had done, Sandor could never forgive. 

_Refused_ to forgive.

Sandor snorted out loud in anger. "Not that he ever asked for forgiveness."

And so Sandor had uprooted his whole life-- well, what little life he had at least -- and left the Westerlands to come back to Kings Landing. In truth, he didn't completely need the money for the resale of the house. Sandor did fine on his own, but he'd fucking slit his own throat before letting Gregor take anything more from him.

His rage fueled him through another hour of hauling trash. By the time his anger began to wane, Sandor was half pleased to find that he had cleared out most of the major debris from the yard just as the sun was starting to set. He took his leave and wandered back into the house for the night.

Killing as much time as possible, Sandor was slow to shower and change. He even swapped out his bed sheets and started the laundry by the time ten o'clock hit. 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he settled in on the couch with a bottle of rum that he'd been nursing for the last hour and brought up Sansa's phone number. It was around the time she had normally reached out, and he figured that she would be home by now to take his call. 

_If_ she took his call. Wishful thinking.

He mustered up the courage and tapped on his call history to redial her from the previous night. The line rang only three times before she picked up, and he had been mid-sip in his rum when she answered.

"Hello?" her soft voice chirped.

"Hey, little bird. Got a moment?" he said gruffly.

Truthfully, he hadn't expected her to answer at all. Let alone so quickly. In the background he heard a male voice talking rather loudly, and he grit his teeth slightly at the thought that it might be that cunt Joffrey.

"Um, yeah, definitely I do. Let me just get some privacy," she replied, and he heard the background voices fade out as she walked through her house. "Still there?" she said after a few moments.

"Still here," he replied, a frown playing at his lips. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything, we can talk another time--"

"No, no it's okay. Really. I was just watching TV with Robb and Arya, they won't miss me. They're too caught up in some romance reality show to even notice I'm gone," she half-laughed, sounding uneasy. "I was actually going to call you soon, I'm... I'm really happy you called," her voice grew softer, as if she were shy.

Sandor was taken aback, and he felt even more guilt than he had the night before. He'd treated her like shit, and yet she was happy to hear from him. He briefly considered pretending like nothing had happened the night before, just to save the awkward conversation, but he was man enough to admit his mistakes.

"Little bird, I...I owe you an apology," he said lowly, closing his eyes as he strained to find the right words. "I was a complete fucking asshole, and you don't deserve to be spoken to the way I did last night. My problems are not your problems, I shouldn't have taken it out on you." It felt vulnerable in a way Sandor hadn't experienced in a long time, and his scars grew hot as he spoke. He resisted the urge to itch them, not wanting to feel the warped flesh.

Sansa was silent for a few moments as she weighed his words, but she didn't keep him waiting long. 

"I mean I accept your apology, Sandor, but I really feel like I should be the one to apologize here, it was a step too far to make you come meet me out there when you obviously didn't want to. I pushed it _way_ too far when I laid my hands on you, I had no business doing that and for that I am sorry," her words came out quick and rushed, nervous even as if she'd been playing the gory details of the night over and over in her head all day and it had taxed her as much it had Sandor.

Sandor took a deep swig of rum and swallowed hard, and with the liquid courage he found himself saying things he shouldn't be saying.

"I enjoyed it," he rasped lowly. 

"You...enjoyed it? Enjoyed what, Sandor? When I touched you?" her voice was confused.

 _More than you know,_ he thought darkly, but pushed back the lewd thoughts that had come to him in his bedroom the night before.

"Aye little bird," he affirmed, not wanting to come off perverse by pushing it any further. 

"You didn't seem like you enjoyed it," she huffed quietly, "you yelled at me afterwards, remember?" 

"Words don't come easy to me anymore, Sansa." It was a poor excuse by most means, but there was truth in it. Sandor hardly spoke to anyone most days, and the time he'd spent talking to Sansa was probably the most consistent conversation he'd had in years. 

She was silent again for a few beats, before her curious voice replied, "what did you enjoy about it?" 

He sucked in a low breath, feeling his heart hammer in his chest while he debated telling her the details or just cutting the conversation short. He'd called to apologize, and now here he was toeing the line of an appropriate conversation with a taken woman.

Perhaps it was the darkness of his living room, or the warmth of the rum in his belly, but he found the nerve to tell her most of the truth.

"Your hands are soft, it felt... it felt good. And you didn't pull away, or run screaming. You weren't scared," the words sounded stupid on Sandor's ears, and he found himself grimacing at his own admission.

"I could never be scared of you," she said gently, but there was hurt in her voice as if she couldn't believe he would think that. "Though, I will admit it is good to know I have softer than average hands," she joked lightly, taking a bit of heaviness out of the conversation.

Sandor debated telling her she was the only person aside from doctors to touch him _at all_ since he got his scars, but even his rum addled tongue managed to hold that bit of information back. 

"Well, I don't want to hold you up--" he started, but she interrupted him promptly.

"Are you in front of your TV?" 

"Uh, yeah..." Sandor reached out to the coffee table and swiped the remote, anticipating where this was going.

"Put on channel 52, there's a history special about Aegon the Conqueror on, if you're into that," she paused for a moment, "it is a bit odd, though, they're talking about how he was incestuous..."

"Oh, I'm _definitely_ into that," Sandor said in a husky voice, giving his best attempt at humor as he punched the numbers into the remote. He was rewarded with a bubbling giggling from Sansa, and a smile quirked at his own lips in return.

He wasn't exactly lying, either. Sandor _was_ into history, and he felt a brief wave of appreciation crash over him that the little bird was a history buff as well.

"With _both_ his sisters too, I mean, isn't one bad enough?" Sansa mused.

"Would it really be better if he only fucked _one_ of his sisters? You'd be fine with one, but two is where you draw the line?" Sandor retorted with a snort, challenging her logic. 

Sansa giggled again, and the sound had Sandor relaxing into the conversation quicker than he thought possible. 

"I mean one sister could be an accident, you know? But both is definitely intentional."

"An...accident? I'm not sure what you define an accident as, little bird, but it's definitely not falling dick-first into your sister," Sandor chuckled as he grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and lit it up, taking a heavy drag. 

"You're terrible!" she squeaked, and Sandor imagined she was blushing at his language. "Hush your filthy mouth for a few minutes, I want to hear about the forming of the Kingsguard," she teased.

"Yes, ma'am," Sandor obliged, earning him another soft laugh from Sansa as he settled in to watch the rest of the documentary with his phone cradled against his ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I tried writing this chapter many times and it came out wildly different every time.  
> I hope you guys like where I took it.
> 
> I also still recommend doing a re-read past the prologue (no changes there) for some alterations I made to the fic. I just was not completely happy with it, so I gave it some deep dialogue love and a few plot point changes. 
> 
> Nothing earth shattering, but I would say the largest change is the nature of Sansa and Joffrey's relationship, which is re-explained in the first half of chapter 2 if you're not willing to do a complete re-read.
> 
> I'm working on the next chapter already, but let me know what you think of this one.


	8. Tutor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't help but upload again, you guys made me so happy today! This fic gained a 1/3 as many views as it originally had in ONE day, that's incredible. 
> 
> Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy this lengthy chapter! It clocks in at over 5,000 words.  
> Enjoy <3

"You're starting to become insufferable, you know that?" Arya snarked, crunching loudly on an overly crisp curly fry as she eyed Sansa. 

Sansa had barely heard her, too absorbed in the text she'd just received from Sandor to acknowledge her sister's attitude. 

" _Hell-o_? Sansa Stark, do you copy?" Arya shook a limp curly fry in front of her sister's face.

"Sorry," Sansa said quickly, setting her phone down and swiping the fry as she turned her attention toward Arya. "Sandor just made a funny comment about the nature special on whales we watched last night--"

" _Sandor_ , _Sandor_ , _Sandor_ ," Arya mimicked in a squeaky voice that Sansa surmised was supposed to sound like her own. "God, this is like when you were twelve all over again. You are _seriously_ crushing on him, and it is _seriously_ getting on my last nerve."

Sansa lurched across the table immediately and covered her sister's mouth with her palm, silencing her as she shot a glance around the K.U. cafeteria to see if anyone had heard her.

"Keep your voice down!" Sansa hissed, and then she cried out in shock when Arya licked the inside of her palm. "You're disgusting, really. I can't believe we're related," Sansa said with a shake of her head. 

"We're not, mom found you in a dumpster and you were so ugly we thought you were a dog."

"I'm serious though, Arya. Don't say things like that in public, and especially not here. What if Joffrey had been standing behind you, or any of his friends even?" Sansa said as she anxiously nibbled on the end of the fry she was holding.

Arya shrugged, flipping open her journal and peering at her sloppily taken notes. "He's going to find out, you're way too obvious. It's written all over your face, Sansa. This is the happiest I've seen you in months." 

"There is nothing to _find out_ ," Sansa said sharply, making air quotes with her fingers, "what are you even implying?"

"I'm implying that you're a few late night phone calls away from losing your _boyfriend_ and your internship," Arya said boyfriend like it tasted bad, and mock gagged for effect. 

Sansa fiddled with a strand of hair anxiously, knowing that Arya wasn't fully wrong. She'd spent the last two evenings talking to Sandor into the early hours of the morning. Last night they were up so late that she had fallen asleep on the call.

"We're just friends, Arya, I mean it. We watch documentaries, and this is literally the second text he's ever sent me," she argued, knowing her defense was weak. Her intentions didn't matter, that was true. Joffrey would take offense to this if he found out, despite the fact he cheated on her constantly. 

"I never knew documentaries were so funny," Arya said, skimming her notes still. "The wall between our rooms is thin, I hear you laughing like every five minutes." Arya followed up the comment with a donkey-like laugh, complete with exaggerated snorts.

"I _do not_ laugh like that," Sansa interjected, peering at her sister curiously, "and since when do you study? Or take notes, for that matter?"

Arya shrugged, throwing the cover of her notebook shut.

"Is it the professor? Is he hot?" Sansa prodded, curious why her sister who seldom cracked a book was suddenly so studious. 

"Not a professor, another student," Arya smirked suddenly, and Sansa swore she could see her sister blushing. "His name is Gendry, and he's even denser than I am when it comes to this shit."

Sansa tilted her head to the side, eyebrows raised. "I see. And what, you're his tutor...or something?"

"Something like that," Arya said with a grin, rising off her seat and tucking her books into her bag. "He sits next to me in economics because he thinks I'm smart, so I make sure to read up before class." 

"Whatever gets you to study," Sansa said, standing as well to leave. 

The cafeteria was thinning out, which meant their fifteen minute gap between classes was over. 

Arya was already walking in the opposite direction, as her class was across campus, but she turned on her heels and started walking backwards as she spoke to Sansa, "In all seriousness though, please be careful here. You're playing with fire. You never know what's in a man's head." 

Sansa felt a lump grow in her throat as she considered whether Arya meant Sandor or Joffrey with that last comment, and the thought sent her chewing on her fingernails nervously. So for the first time in her academic career, Sansa did the unthinkable.

She decided to skip her last class.

Joffrey always sought her out at the end of the day for their customary meet-up, though it was mostly for appearances, but Sansa was just too nervous to endure that today. She found herself quickly walking towards her usual parking lot, looking over her shoulder every few minutes to make sure Joffrey wasn't around. 

When she was in the safety of her car, Sansa sighed with relief started up the engine to head home.

She was going to have to study her finance textbook extra diligently later this evening, that was certain. Sansa was a little behind in the class already, and missing today was absolutely not going to help.

Not to mention she already had two assignments to do for Joffrey that he had so graciously dumped on her on the last minute.

A frown played on her lips at the realization that she would likely have to skip her phone call with Sandor tonight. When she came to the stop light at the exit of the college, she swiftly pulled out her phone and rang him up. 

It nearly went to voicemail by the time he answered, and he sounded breathless when he did.

"Little bird?" his voice was rough and labored, as if he'd be working out before she called.

Sansa blushed, embarrassed that she had interrupted whatever he had been doing.

"Hi, Sandor. I'm sorry, I should have texted first to make sure you weren't busy. I can call back later." Sansa wasn't surprised he was occupied, it was barely past two in the afternoon. 

"Don't worry about it, I just finished hauling this bastard of a fridge out of the backyard," he rasped nonchalantly. "Thought you had class until four, though. Everything alright?" 

Warmth spread through her chest as she realized he was concerned for her and had dropped what he was doing to make sure she was okay. Not only that, but he'd also remembered her class schedule when she had mentioned it offhandedly the night before. Joffrey could barely remember her birthday, and they'd been dating for years.

"Everything's fine, I'm driving home from class right now," she said reassuringly, not wanting him to worry. "I just wanted to let you know I won't be able to call later to watch the second part of the Targaryen documentary that's on tonight. Something came up." 

The line was quiet for a bit, and when Sandor finally replied his voice sounded cold and distant. 

"Alright. Thanks for the heads up. Take care, Sansa." 

_Whoa, okay. That felt personal._

"I'm not blowing it off or anything, Sandor," she said hastily, getting the words in before he hung up. "I'm just falling behind really hard in my one class and it's starting to worry me. So I need to study and figure out what I'm missing." 

"Thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius?" he taunted, sounding a bit more relaxed at her explanation. "What class is giving you trouble?"

Sansa laughed happily in response, pleased that he hadn't hung up and was even teasing her. 

"I definitely never claimed to be a _genius_ , but I'll take that as a compliment I guess. Anyway, it's my finance class that I'm struggling with."

Sandor grunted in response, pausing for a moment before he replied, "I might be able to help you with that, if you want."

"Help me?" Sansa said, surprised. "Do you know a lot about finance?" She suspected he was making a joke, but she didn't want to insult him by laughing if he was serious. His jokes were often dry, something Sansa found endearing.

"I've taken a class or two," he said cryptically. "Call me again when you're not driving and I'll see if I can try and talk you through it."

And just like that, Sansa saw an opening to break down some of the walls Sandor had so carefully put up in their friendship.

"Oh," she pouted, doing her best to sound disappointed. "It's going to be kind of hard to study over the phone, don't you think? I'm really more of a visual learner. If I could come over, on the other hand--"

"No, Sansa," he practically growled, and his strict tone almost sent her confidence running for the hills. 

Sansa pulled into the driveway of her house and put her car in park, chewing her lip nervously as she gathered the courage for another attempt. 

"Please, Sandor. I could really use your help," she whispered, her voice taking on a pleading tone.

"Little bird..." he sighed, and she could sense his resolve weakening. 

"And it could be on your terms," she interjected, and she found that her heart was racing as she continued, "I won't disrespect your boundaries. If you don't want me to look at you, I won't."

Sandor laughed bitterly and when he spoke his voice was full of mistrust, "I don't even know how that would work, Sansa."

"I have an idea, but you need to have a little faith in me," she said softly, and she moved to climb out of her car taking her backpack with her. "Listen, I'm going to check on my mom and see if she needs anything. Then I have to do a short assignment for another class. If you wouldn't mind helping me, I would appreciate it _so_ much. Let me know and I can come over around five. Just think about it, okay?" 

Sandor grumbled flippantly, "I'll think about it."

They ended the call with a quick goodbye and Sansa sighed deeply as she tucked her phone into her jeans and made her way into the house. Her mind was so busy with thoughts of Sandor that she almost missed the fact her mom was sitting in the kitchen a few feet away from her.

"Hey, mom," Sansa smiled brightly, her heart feeling full suddenly at the sight of her mother up and about. She dropped her keys on the counter hastily and made to hug her mother.

Catelyn Stark was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, and she even had a cup of coffee in front of her. Her eyes glanced away from where she was reading and the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile when she saw Sansa. She reciprocated the hug with a brief squeeze. 

"Hello, Sansa. How was school?" she said evenly, bringing her coffee cup to her lips for a drink. 

"Fine," Sansa lied. "It's nice to see you up and about, do you feel well today?"

It was a rare occurrence for her mother to spend the day downstairs, since her father had passed. Occasionally she came down at night to watch television with her children but even that was an uncommon thing. 

"It's a lovely day today," Catelyn said with a smile, and went back to reading her newspaper. 

Sansa suddenly took note of the small bouquet of flowers sitting in the middle of the table, and she leaned in to read the card attached. Her mouth twisted up with distaste at the sight of a familiar signature.

"Uncle Petyr sent flowers?" she asked with uncertainty. "What's the occasion?" 

"No occasion, my dear," her mother said, smiling now at the flowers on the table. "He merely sent them as a kindness. We spoke on the phone earlier and had a lovely chat."

Sansa felt her stomach churn, and she recalled the number of things her father had said about their 'uncle' over the course of her childhood. 

Ned had always made it clear to his family that he saw Petyr as untrustworthy, as well as being obviously attracted to Catelyn. Sansa hadn't minded Petyr's presence, and even occasionally looked forward to it as he brought gifts for the Stark children every time he visited. 

Until one year when she was sixteen, and Sansa caught him looking through her underwear drawer. She hadn't mentioned it to her parents for fear of making them fight, but she saw him in a much less flattering light after that. 

"That was nice of him," Sansa said, though her comment reeked of insincerity. "I've got a bit of homework to do, but can I make you anything to eat before I head upstairs?"

"I'm fine dear, I had a bit of toast and eggs earlier. Thank you for offering, though," her mother smiled and returned to her paper, leaving Sansa to stare at her curiously for a few moments. 

Sansa was dumbfounded as she made her way upstairs, her mother rarely cooked herself anything to eat and she was almost downright chipper today. She supposed it should please her that her mom was doing so well, but her suspicions of Petyr lingered as she settled in to do Joffrey's homework. 

He had already texted her earlier, asking why he couldn't find her after class and if she had remembered that he had two quizzes due tonight. She hadn't responded, and had silenced their conversation for the evening.

She was just finishing up with his second assignment when her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Sansa held her breath anxiously as she dug it out and looked at the screen.

**Sandor: 5:30, bring your textbook.**

Sansa's face broke out into a catlike grin as she read the message, and she checked the time. 

4:38 P.M. 

Somehow it seemed like not enough time and too much time simultaneously. 

Sansa quickly submitted Joffrey's homework on his account before logging out and closing her laptop. She darted into her bathroom and plugged her hair curler in to let it heat up before hurrying back to her bedroom. 

_Gods, why am I so nervous?_

Sansa fanned herself with her hands, feeling anxiety well up in her at the prospect of being around Sandor again. They were only friends, after all.

Just friends. 

And yet, for reasons she couldn't explain, Sansa found herself reaching into her _good_ underwear drawer and donning a matching set of black lace rather than her usual mismatched cotton thong and plain bra. She covered up the revealing set with her favorite high-waisted jeans and a low cut black t-shirt. 

When she finished dressing, she ran back into the bathroom and gave her hair a bit of wave with the curling iron. Adding just a dab of mascara and blush, Sansa leaned back from the bathroom counter and assessed herself in the mirror. 

Perhaps she looked a little more done up than she usually did, but not as if she were trying too hard. She just wanted to look presentable for the first time Sandor saw her face to face, even if she wouldn't be seeing him. For a moment, she tried to imagine herself as he might see her. Sansa certainly felt that she looked different than she had at twelve, the last time he had seen her, but she could only hope he would feel the same.

A swift glance at the clock in her bedroom told her it was less than fifteen minutes before she was supposed to be at Sandor's house. She cursed quietly and went to where she had abandoned her backpack, removing everything except for the finance related materials and her calculator. 

She grabbed her phone off the desk where she had abandoned it and sent Sandor a quick 'on my way!' text, adding a smiley face to take some of the pressure off for him. 

When she made her way downstairs, backpack slung over her shoulder, Sansa found Robb, Arya, and her mother watching TV together. Another cringey reality TV show, but it seemed to be their guilty pleasure as of late.

"Hey guys," she said breezily as she swiped her car keys off the kitchen counter and slid her thumb through the loop. 

They all said hello in unison, but Robb was staring at her a bit skeptically.

"You look nice, Sans. Where you headed off to?" he asked, thumbing the remote and turning down the volume on the TV.

Sansa swallowed hard, feeling a bit pink in the cheeks at having to lie in front of her family. 

"I'm going to see a tutor, for my finance class," she said as smoothly as she could manage, slowly backpedaling towards the door. 

Arya turned around on the couch and stared at Sansa, eyebrows raised. "A tutor? Since when do you need a tutor? Little miss straight-A student." Arya made her eyes wide and blinked them rapidly in an innocent fashion. 

Sansa shrugged, feeling the scrutiny of her siblings eyes on her. 

"Study hard," Catelyn said with a smile, waving at Sansa before returning her attention to the TV. 

Arya was the last to break eye contact, and she was giving Sansa a knowing smirk. 

"I might stop by a friends house afterwards, don't wait up," she called out over her shoulder as she stepped over the threshold and hurried to her car with a skip in her step. She wasn't entirely sure why she had thrown in that last bit.

She was only going over to study, after all. It wasn't as if she planned on staying late. In fact, she was almost sure she wouldn't be. 

The drive over to Sandor's house was nerve-racking, despite the fact he was only a few miles away. She'd mentioned to him that she had a thought on how he could tutor her without seeing him, but it was hardly much of an idea. 

Still, she pulled into his driveway at 5:29 and waited the extra minute for good measure before exiting her car. She paused for a moment to assess the old white house.

She'd been there before, of course, when she had tried to drop off the fruit basket not even a week ago. Yet somehow it was like she was seeing it with new eyes. Seeing it as Sandor's childhood home, rather than a random house, gave it new meaning to her. 

Truthfully, it was a mess. The paint was chipping off nearly everywhere she looked, and where there would normally be grass the house was surrounded by weeds. A glance up told her the roof needed work as well. She had always known that Sandor wasn't well off like the Stark's had previously been, but it took visiting his house for the first time for her to fully grasp how different their origins had been.

As Sansa approached the door, she wondered if Sandor planned on fixing up the house all on his own. He had mentioned yard work once or twice in their conversations.

She studied the door, which was just as bedraggled as the rest of the house, and her stomach was practically in her throat as she thought about the man who was waiting on the other side. 

Sansa raised a shaking hand and knocked sharply three times, holding her breath as she waited. 

"It's open," Sandor called out from inside, his voice strained and rough as if it pained him to speak the words. 

_Here goes nothing._

Sansa turned the knob and pushed open the door gently, taking in the sight of Sandor's home as she stepped inside. 

She was surprised to find it was well lit, a warm orange-y glow illuminating the small space. Hardwood floors that had seen better days ran through the entire living space and into the back hallway. The living room and kitchen were open to each other, each taking up one side of the room. An old, worn couch and an equally worn recliner faced in a TV in one corner. A small coffee table sat in the middle of it all, and atop it rested a laptop and a pack of cigarettes. 

On the opposite side of the room, there was a small kitchen tucked into the corner. The fridge was forest green and rounded on the corners, showing it's age. The counter tops were laminate, a green color similar to that of the fridge, and peeling at the edges.

And that was where Sandor stood with his back to her, pouring some kind of drink at the kitchen counter. 

Sansa's mouth ran dry as her eyes raked over his form. If she had thought him tall when she was a child, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. His towering figure dwarfed the tiny kitchen that he stood in, making it look almost comically small compared to him. 

It wasn't just his height that made his size so imposing, though. He was broad and built beyond belief, to the point where she could see his back muscles rippling through his t-shirt while he fixed his drink. Inky black hair brushed past his shoulders, and for a moment she recalled how soft it had been when she touched it a few nights ago.

She was just starting to ogle the backs of his arms when his voice cut through her thoughts.

"What's the plan, little bird? You said you had one," he rasped in a tense voice, and even from this angle she could tell his hands were trembling as he held his drink. She imagined that her standing there for so long without speaking had made him even more anxious.

Sansa found her courage, suddenly, perhaps emboldened by his lack of it. She slung her bag off of her shoulder and deposited it onto an empty kitchen chair before making her way over to him. 

Sandor stiffened as she came up behind him, and his enormous hand gripped the edge of the counter top until his knuckles turned white.

"Sansa--" he warned, his voice lowering into a shaky growl as she grew closer.

She ignored his threat, somehow knowing he wouldn't hurt her. When she was close enough, Sansa ever so carefully slid her arms around his midsection and pressed herself flush against his back in a warm embrace.

"Hi, Sandor," she whispered softly, squeezing him a bit tighter as if to reassure him that he was safe from judgement with her.

He was frozen in place for a moment, his breathing labored. After a few moments, Sansa felt his hand cover hers where it rested on his chest. 

"Hey, little bird," he murmured back, grasping her hand tightly in his own. 

Sansa could feel his heart racing, there. It thrummed in his chest so very rapidly it felt like it was trying to fight its way out. It both charmed and saddened her that someone as small and unassuming as herself could frighten a man as commanding as Sandor was.

Gently she detangled herself from him, keeping her word, and moved to sit at his kitchen table. 

"So, ah," Sansa fanned herself with her hand, feeling suddenly hot in the face. She was careful not to look over at him as she began unpacking her books. "I was thinking you could stand behind me or sit off to the side and we could work off the same sheet of paper?"

It was ridiculous, really. If it were anyone else, Sansa wouldn't have the patience to move so carefully within a friendship. But Sandor had been through enough, and if this is what it took to trust him Sansa would gladly bear that burden. 

Treasure it, even.

"I'll stand," he said from behind her, and Sansa felt the weight of him leaning onto the back of the chair. 

Sansa shrugged her shoulders as if she were indifferent, trying to make an awkward situation seem normal. She was digging around in her bag for her financial calculator when she realized there was already one on the table in front of her.

"You have a financial calculator?" she said quizzically, picking it up to examine it. She had to admit it was a _lot_ nicer than hers. All done up in chrome, and it even had a solar grid instead of regular batteries. 

Sandor grunted in response, and reached his arm around her to press a few buttons.

"It's a lot easier to calculate the loan variables on this model, and instead of having to change the settings for the periods per year, there's a dedicated button for it down on the left," his voice was rich and husky in her ear as he pointed out various signs and buttons on the calculator, and Sansa found she was hardly listening as she watched his massive fingers work the device. Her hands practically looked like a child's compared to his.

Sansa hummed thoughtfully at his explanation, and she had the vague suspicion that Sandor knew a bit more about finance than he was letting on. She set the calculator down when he was finished talking and flipped open her textbook to the chapter she believed she had missed in class that day. Sansa took a deep breath and willed herself to focus.

"I think this is where I'm having trouble..."

* * * * *

"Can we take a break?" Sansa sighed, rubbing at the corner of her eye as she stared at the half finished problem on the paper in front of her. They'd been working at it for hours, and she wondered how he hadn't grown tired of standing behind her for so long.

"You've almost got it," Sandor rasped quietly behind her, and he planted his hands on either side of the paper as he stood over her, gesturing to parts of the problem with his finger as he spoke. "You've already done the work, it's just asking you to look back now and find the interest rate." 

Sansa found herself admiring how strong his arms were as he pointed things out on her paper. His skin was tan, much tanner than hers, and the backs of his muscled forearms were smattered with coarse black hair. For the briefest moment, a deviant part of her mind that she didn't recognize questioned if he was just as hairy in other places.

"You're not listening, are you?" he chuckled lowly, and she realized that she had been tuning him out. He didn't sound upset, and Sansa had found that he was warming to her as the night grew on.

"Sorry, I'm just distracted," she admitted, and almost immediately after her hand flew to her mouth to smother the guilty words. 

"What's distracting you?"

Sansa drew in a breath as she attempted to come up with an excuse that wasn't quite so inflammatory as admitting she was picturing his body hair. She realized mid-breath he was so near that she could smell his cologne.

"Um, your cologne. It smells really nice, I like it," she said simply, and it wasn't a complete lie. He _did_ smell nice.

She could hear the smile on Sandor's lips as he spoke, "I'm not wearing any cologne, little bird. I don't even own any if you can believe it. It's probably just my aftershave."

Sansa's eyes widened and she found herself smiling as well. "You shaved? Can I feel?" It was bold, even for her, after how inflamed her touch had made him just a few nights before. But still she reached her hand up and held it mid air, an offering of sorts. 

Much to her surprise, Sandor hesitated only a moment or two before leaning in and pressing the unburnt side of his jawline to her waiting fingertips. She nearly melted at the sensation.

Sansa made a soft appreciative noise as she dragged her touch across his freshly shaved face, careful not to cross over onto the scarred side. Despite the fact he had shaved so recently, Sansa could still feel the stubble laying in wait beneath his skin because of how thick his hair was.

"It feels nice," she said, "though I will admit I rather liked the beard." 

Sandor's cheek twitched against her touch, and when he spoke his voice came out hoarse, "I prefer the beard too, but I was long overdue for a shave." He carefully pried her fingers from his face and set her hand back onto the table. 

Sansa tapped her phone screen, illuminating it so she could check the time. She found that it was nearly ten, and an uneasiness settled in her gut as she prepared to push the limits a little further this evening. 

"Getting late, you probably need to get home," he muttered as he pushed away from the table, his arms disappearing from her view. 

"Actually," Sansa began, sucking in a breath, "I was thinking we could watch the second part of the Targaryen dynasty documentary, since I'm already here."

She squeezed her eyes shut, cringing as she prepared for him to tell her off or insist that she leave. What she heard instead made her heart skip a beat.

"Alright, as long as your family doesn't think I'm keeping you here hostage," he said in a gruff voice. She heard the clink of glass as he retrieved his drink from the kitchen counter and crossed the room to settle onto the couch with a huff.

Sansa waited a few beats for him to get settled, and when she heard the TV click on she rose to her feet and cautiously turned to look at him. 

Sandor was sitting on the couch with one massive arm draped over the back of it casually, his head tilted slightly away from her as he stared at the television. 

She nearly tripped on the chair when she went to walk towards him, but quickly righted herself. She could only see his hair from this angle. Sansa impulsively flicked the light switch off as she passed by it on her way to sit with him. 

"Is lights off okay?" she asked softly, and was only answered with a grunt of acknowledgement. She hoped he didn't take that as a preference on her part because of his face, she only meant for it to provide him some comfort. 

Sansa swallowed hard as she rounded the couch and gingerly lowered herself down next to him. 

The intro of the documentary was playing, but she could hardly focus on the screen with Sandor sitting so close to her. Slowly, she she turned her head sideways and glanced up at him.

_Oh, gods._

Sansa was so taken aback by what she saw that an audible gasp escaped her lips, something she quickly regretted, but she couldn't help herself.

Sandor Clegane was _beautiful_. 

Granted, she could only see half of him, but Sansa decided that no matter what the other half of his face looked like that he was one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. He'd positioned himself with his good side facing her, something that was so obviously intentional. So Sansa sat there with her mouth agape like a fish as her eyes scanned every detail of his profile. 

She could still see traces of the teenage boy she once pined for, but all adolescent curves were absent. He was all hard lines and sharp edges, each facial feature more distinct than the next. She found herself admiring every bit of him, from his strong jaw to his full lips, even the slight hook in his nose that had grown more severe since his youth. Every inch of him appealed to her and she couldn't tear herself away. 

When her gaze reached his eye-level, she stiffened.

Sandor was glaring at her intensely, the silvery gray of his eye was partially obscured by how narrowed it was. One corner of his mouth turned down with displeasure, and she saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard.

"Not much interesting to see on this side, little bird. Sorry to disappoint."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliffhanger for you there, but you'll be happy to know I'm already working on Sandor's perspective of the evening. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	9. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely overwhelmed at the wonderful comments from my previous chapter. You guys flatter me beyond words, I am deeply humbled. 
> 
> Thank you
> 
> (While this chapter is quite a bit shorter than the last one, I intend to upload the follow-up within the next few days. It's a chapter that I would like to be from Sansa's perspective, and I alternate perspectives every other chapter.)
> 
> Major trigger warning on this chapter: Description/talk of suicide

Sandor couldn't say for certain how he ended up bending to Sansa's request to come over to his home, he'd all but definitively decided that was never happening. Yet somehow, he’d ended up racing around the house like a madman cleaning up takeout containers and liquor bottles for over an hour that afternoon.

He'd told himself he was just doing it to clean up, that it was long overdue, but it was clear as day that was just a fucking lie. Truth was, he _wanted_ the little bird there. Their phone conversations were something he found himself looking forward to, despite the fact he knew it was a piss-poor idea.

Frankly, he had thought she was blowing him off this afternoon when she rang him up just to say she couldn't call tonight. He was even skeptical when she wanted to come over for him to help her with her studies. But sure as day, she'd shown up textbook in hand and happy to see him.

Hugged him, even.

For the life of him, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been hugged by anyone. It had scared him shitless at first, but feeling her warmth against his back had sent his head spinning.

The evening hadn't been unpleasant by any means, Sansa was a quick study and she lit up the room like the fucking sun. Her laugh was sweet, and her teasing comments even sweeter. The hardest thing had been not staring at her tits when he was standing over her and watching her write. She'd worn something low-cut, and he'd been sporting half a hard-on the entire night because of it.

But fuck if he hadn't gotten hard as hell all over again when she touched his freshly shaven face. Sandor found that he had to remind himself, and not for the first time that night, that she had a boyfriend. Cunt that he was.

When she asked to stay and watch the documentary, it was too hard to resist the opportunity to bask in her presence a bit longer. She'd even turned the lights off, though he wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or his.

True to word, Sansa hadn't so much as glanced at him the whole night. That is, except for right fucking now.

Sansa was staring at him, wide-eyed as if she'd been caught red handed.

He wasn't exactly sure what the little bird had _expected_ to see, it's not as if he'd sit with his bad side facing her. Sandor wanted to be calm about it, but with her gawking at him like that it was difficult. So, he settled for the most passive comment he could muster.

"Not much interesting to see on this side, little bird. Sorry to disappoint," he muttered, keeping his face angled away despite the unbearable urge he had to look at her.

It had been near agony spending the night with her so far, being so close and yet unable to stare her in the fucking eyes like a man.

He couldn't make sense of half the shit she did, truthfully. And maybe that was what made him so uneasy. She'd barreled into his life and all but demanded a friendship. All the while he was left wondering what he possibly could offer to _her life_ that she didn't already have from her brothers and boyfriend.

"I wasn't...I didn't...," she stammered nervously, and for a moment Sandor pitied the little bird. She fidgeted uncomfortably for a few minutes as she searched for the right words.

"You just look so different than the last time I saw you, all those years ago when you left," she explained, and out of the corner of his eye Sandor saw her chewing on her nails nervously.

Sandor found himself smirking sardonically at her comment, a lump in his throat as he shot back his reply. "Different is putting it mildly, little bird. Just be glad you aren't sitting on my left side right now."

"I didn't mean different, different is the wrong way to put it," she plucked the remote from his hand and gave a soft sigh. "What I mean to say is that you're very attractive." And with that she stabbed at the volume button rapidly, the documentary growing louder in the background.

Sandor's lips twitched with anger as he tried to swallow back the rage that was swelling in his chest, but it wasn't much use. If she had meant to silence his response with that little stunt, it wasn't going to fucking happen.

With one swift movement, Sandor snatched the remote back from her and killed the TV with the power button. The room dimmed in an instant as the only source of light was snuffed out, and Sandor turned to face her in the shadowy darkness.

"If you're going to mock me, you can get the fuck out," he growled through clenched teeth, a deep tremble racking his body.

He half expected her to shower him with more pretty words and reassurances that weren’t worth a damn, to keep up with the perfect little understanding angel act that never seemed to falter.

Instead Sansa sucked in a sharp breath and lurched off the couch, turning to face him despite the darkness.

"Do _not_ speak to me that way, Sandor Clegane," she huffed loudly, planting her hands on her hips. "First of all, I'm not mocking you. Never in a million years would I even consider joking about that. Second, you don't just get to treat people like dirt because of your own issues. While I can't say that I know what you've been through, I do know that behaving like this doesn't resolve anything."

Sandor could have laughed if he wasn't so furious, Sansa said his name like she was his teacher scolding him for misbehaving. But it was the last part of her statement that sent him surging to his feet.

"You're goddamn fucking right you don't know what I've been through," he snarled, looming over her as his breaths came out harsh and ragged. "I should never have expected a spoiled _girl_ to understand, not even for a moment. You live in your own sheltered little world, protected by your family and your money. The hardest thing in your life is picking out a pretty outfit before you go to school every day."

Sansa laughed manically in the dark, and the sound sent a chill down Sandor's spine.

"Oh, so that's it huh? You think you know all about me? Got me all _figured_ out?" Her finger jabbed him in chest suddenly, catching him off guard. "You'd be surprised at what you don't know about me, what you don't know about my _sheltered_ little life."

"Go right ahead, fucking surprise me," he taunted, grabbing her hand where she poked him in the chest and squeezing it tightly as he yanked her closer to him until he could feel her breath on his face. "Tell me all about your boyfriend problems, how your homework is too hard, how--"

"My dad killed himself," Sansa said hollowly, her breath growing short as her voice began to quiver. "He s-shot himself in the head, right in our house. In the bedroom he shared with my mother," she was nearly gasping in between each word now, and Sandor felt her entire body shaking.

"Sansa-" he rasped desperately, her words dousing the fire in him like ice water instantly. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he tried to process what she was telling him.

"My mom found him first. I was just getting home from class, still parked in the driveway when I heard her screaming," Sansa choked out in a tortured voice, "I found them there, in their bedroom. Mom was on the ground, covered in my father's blood with his head in her lap. Trying to hold together the pieces of his brain and his skull while she screamed for me to call an ambulance, but even I could tell it was too late."

Sandor suddenly found himself cupping her face in his palm and grazing his thumb across her lips to try and silence the painful memory.

"Little bird, _please_ , you don't have to-"

Sansa tilted her face away sharply, shrugging his hand off of her as she sobbed quietly in the dark.

"I can't remember exactly what my last words to him were, but they weren't kind. We'd gotten into an argument that morning before he'd gone to work, something stupid about Joffrey, and I left the house without even saying goodbye." Her voice had grown so quiet that Sandor found himself holding his breath to make sure he heard every word.

They stood there in the darkness for a few moments, her weeping and him feeling like a right fucking prick for doing this to her.

When he was sure she was finished, Sandor cleared his throat softly as he pushed back the emotion that was welling up in him. "I had no idea, little bird. I'm so sorry."

She took a few steps back from him, her tears having slowed she was now only sniffling. "Of course you had no idea, Sandor. I don't revolve my entire life around wallowing in self-hatred and making everyone else feel my pain because I'm too emotionally stunted to deal with it myself."

Her words struck him like a blow to the chest, but he was still too shell-shocked from her admission to feel any anger towards her.

"Is that all you think of me?" he asked in a low voice, his head pounding as he tried to make sense of everything that had been said.

She sighed deeply, and he heard her footsteps as she moved back closer to him.

"No, Sandor. It's not _all_ I think of you. But...aren't you tired?"

"Tired?" he murmured quietly.

"Yes, tired. Aren't you tired of worrying about what everyone thinks of you? Tired of hiding yourself away from everyone who once cared for you?" her voice was drained, as if considering his life exhausted her. "Aren't you tired of hating yourself yet, Sandor?"

"Of course I'm tired of it, but--" he snapped, ready to argue with her how it wasn't something he could just quit caring about at the drop of a hat.

"Then stop. Give up. Just stop fighting. This is _your_ life, you need to live it," she sounded strong in that moment, stronger than he'd ever heard her before. As if she truly believed in the words she spoke.

"Just like that?" he laughed cruelly, but a knot in his throat made the sound come out distorted. "You make it sound so easy, little bird, but it's not."

"Yes, just like that. It _is_ easy, Sandor. Or at least it can be, once you stop caring what everyone else thinks and just get on with your life. Trust in the people that care about you, everything else is background noise," she sucked in a long breath, taking another step closer to him.

"Start with me. Right here, right now. Do you trust me?" her voice was gentle, so distant from the despair he'd witnessed only minutes ago.

A thousand thoughts started and died on his tongue, an instant stretched into an eternity, but only one stood out among the rest.

_I trust her._

Wordlessly, Sandor brushed by her in the dark as he made his way across the room. His own footsteps sounded thunderous in his head, and when he reached the wall he felt around blindly for a few moments before his fingers brushed against the light switch.

 _Like ripping off a band-aid,_ he thought with a grimace as he flicked his thumb up sharply, light flooding the room. Sweat poured from his palms now at an alarming rate, his heart racing so fast he thought he might drop dead on the spot.

Still, Sandor turned slowly, expecting to see Sansa staring at him. Ready to see the horrified look on her face. But instead she was standing there with her back turned, respecting his boundaries even now. It would have made him smile, was he not absolutely fucking terrified.

"Sansa," he rasped, his face flush with heat. His scars burned the hottest, as if his face were lit ablaze right in the living room.

She shifted ever so slightly in his direction, but still did not turn her eyes to him.

Sandor tilted his head back, so that his hair fell from the ruined side of his face. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and almost pleading.

"Little bird, look at me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter soon to come, thank you for your patience and your lovely comments. I treasure them so much.


	10. One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> You were all so lovely earlier this week with your comments, it warmed my heart so much. Thank you!
> 
> Here is my weekend update, as promised. 
> 
> Trigger warning in this chapter:  
> Physical abuse  
> Mention of sexual assault

"Little bird, look at me."

Sansa felt her mouth run dry, and to her surprise she realized _she_ was nervous. Of course, she would never judge Sandor, but her mind was suddenly racing with all the possibilities of what his scars could be like.

_Only one way to find out._

Focusing her sightline on the floor, Sansa turned slowly in his direction. Her eyes fell on his booted feet, the leather worn and scuffed around the toes. She gave him one last moment to prepare before flickering her gaze up towards his face.

The first thing that she noticed were Sandor's steely grey eyes locked onto hers, and the way his Adam's apple bobbled in a hard swallow upon meeting each other's gaze.

On one side, he was every bit as handsome as she'd seen on the couch not even twenty minutes ago. His chiseled face framed by thick, sooty black hair. But as her gaze roamed to the shadowy part of his face, Sansa felt her heart squeeze.

There, his handsome features were marred by gnarled flesh. The skin was mottled pink and white, rather than the glorious olive tone tan that covered the rest of him. In some places the scars were sinewy and long, and they flexed as Sandor tensed his jaw. But along his neck where they were more severe, they were bumpy and nearly resembled ground meat.

Noticeably absent was his eyebrow, but Sansa had already expected that from the night on the hill when she'd touched his face. From there, white striations went up into his hairline and disappeared.

They were gruesome, no doubt, but with the way he had acted Sansa had nearly expected him to be missing half his face. She wasn't sure what pleased her more, that he had trusted her with this gift or that his scars were not all that she feared they might be.

A soft smile broke out across her lips, and she exhaled a breath of relief she wasn't aware she'd been holding.

She crossed the room to him quickly, and without hesitation she found herself wrapping her arms around his barreled chest for the second time that night. Sneaking a peak up at him, Sansa found that he bore a bewildered expression as if her reaction was the last thing he expected.

His mouth was slightly agape, and up-close Sansa could see now that the corner of his full lips was seared at one side. It looked as if it had been melted and reopened surgically. His eyes studied her face intensely, as if he was looking for some sign of terror that she hadn't yet shown to appear.

"Sandor, usually when someone hugs you, you're supposed to hug them back," she said playfully, enunciating her words with a tight squeeze. Her joke was meant to put him at ease, but it seemed to have little effect.

He raised his arms numbly to wrap around the middle of her back in a loose embrace, still stonily silent despite her outward display of affection. His eyes were searching, as if he expected a trap.

Sansa huffed exaggeratedly, untangling her arms from the hug, she leaned up onto the tips of her toes and gently grasped each side of his face in her hands. There, her gaze met his and she found herself growing flushed as she remembered how as a girl she had once admired his stormy grey eyes. Leaning in Sansa pressed a tender kiss to his scarred cheek. The skin was firm against the plushness of her lips, and she let her mouth linger there for a moment before gently pulling away to take in his reaction.

His stoicism broke, and the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile that made her toes curl.

"Hi," she whispered softly, his face just inches from hers. She was acutely aware of the way his chest was brushing up against hers, and her cheeks burned with warmth at the realization.

"Hey, little bird," he murmured lowly, his arms curling tighter around her back as he finally reciprocated the hug. Immediately, Sansa felt safer than she had ever felt in her entire life. His burly arms were wrapped tight around her, and she felt his muscled chest pressed against hers in their embrace. Every fear she had ever had in her existence washed away.

It was the single most poetic and surreal moment of Sansa's life.

Or at least it was, until her stomach let forth a deafening growl that filled the tender silence of the room.

Sansa's eyes widened in shock and she stepped back suddenly, breaking the hug as her face began to flush with heat.

Sandor stared at her with an equally bewildered expression for a few moments, before erupting in throaty fit of laughter.

"Oh, my gods!" Sansa wailed, covering her face swiftly with her palms in a futile attempt to escape from the embarrassment. She realized then that she hadn't eaten for nearly the entire day, briefly recalling a fry she'd stolen from Arya at lunch.

Sandor, on the other hand, was still chuckling lowly to himself when she finally dared to peek at him between her fingers.

"I take it the little bird is feeling peckish?" he said smugly, all traces of nervousness absent from his face as his lips curled into a mocking grin. If it took embarrassment on her part to coax Sandor out of his shell, she'd gladly bear it.

"That was terribly unladylike," she said with a bit of a frown, letting her hands fall from her face.

He shrugged at her, still looking amused. "Who gives a shit, you're hungry. It happens," he said with a thoughtful glance towards his kitchen. "I don't have anything here, though. We'll have to order out. I think the only thing open this time of night is that shitty pizza place over near Maegor's holdfast."

Sansa felt awash with surprise at the suggestion. It was already well past ten, and he clearly meant for her to stay a while if they were going to order food. She watched as he pulled out his cellphone and went to his recent calls, redialing a number that was only one or two down the list.

He held the phone up to his ear, the distant sound of ringing filling the room.

"Yeah, just looking to place an order for delivery. One large mea--" his eyes flickered towards Sansa for a moment and he corrected himself quickly. "Cheese. One large _cheese_ pizza." The corner of his mouth was turned up in a smirk as he stressed the word, and then began rattling off his address details.

Sansa found herself blushing at the fact he remembered she was a vegetarian, and she was relieved at the fact he wasn't trying to force her to eat meat as Joffrey often did. Her eyes roamed over him slowly, taking advantage of the fact he was distracted to really _look_ at him.

He was even more imposing from the front than he had been from the back, the way his t-shirt strained around his chest and arms. Sandor reminded her of the muscular she usually saw on the cover of her romance novels; save for the fact he was much brawnier. Not to mention, hairy.

"They said it'll be about thirty minutes," Sandor muttered as he pocketed his phone. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable at how intently Sansa was considering him. "I need a fucking drink," he rasped, raking a hand over his face as he made his way to the kitchen.

Sansa followed him carefully, watching as he opened a cupboard that was conspicuously full of hard liquor. He snatched an amber colored bottle, that to her untrained eyes vaguely looked like beer, and began pouring himself a glass.

"You remembered I'm a vegetarian," Sansa commented as she moved towards the countertop where he stood, turning to lean her back against it and face him. "Thanks for ordering cheese, by the way."

He shrugged, bringing the glass to his mouth and downing it in one shot. Sansa found herself fascinated by the way his throat moved as he swallowed, particularly the way the muscles flexed in his neck. He exhaled roughly after finishing the drink and began pouring another, seeming less tense than he had moments prior. His eyes roamed over her for a moment in a way that sent her pulse racing, but she quickly chased the lewd thoughts from her mind.

"A man can only eat so many meat-lover's pizzas in one week, I'm doing it for the sake of my health." His expression was serious, but she found herself giggling at his usual dry brand of joke.

"The animals will be so relieved," she teased, and with a small gesture of her hand she pointed at his glass. "Can I have one?"

Sandor froze mid-drink and turned to face her.

"Do you even know what I'm drinking, little bird?" He looked amused, but also as if he was considering handing her the glass.

"Of course, I do," she said huffily, feigning offense. She squinted at the bottle on the counter, trying to make out the label. "Whiskey, obviously."

"Obviously," he chuckled, taking a much shorter draw of his drink than he had previously. " _If_ you were old enough to drink, I'd give you some. But even then, I doubt you could hold it down." Perhaps he hadn't meant it to be condescending, but Sansa felt insulted that he immediately assumed she couldn't handle it.

So, she reached over and plucked the drink from his hand, with a playful smirk Sansa rose the glass to her lips and threw it back, all the while enjoying the shocked look on Sandor's face.

Immediately, she regretted this decision. The spiced liquid tasted strong on her tongue and had her dangerously close to spitting it out, so she swallowed it back as quickly as she could. It left a burning trail down her throat, and she found herself gasping with revulsion.

Sandor watched as she covered her mouth in horror, a smug look on his face.

"H-how could," Sansa tried, but the burn was too intense to speak. So, she took a few moments and composed herself before trying again. "How could anyone willingly _do_ that to themselves? That's the worst thing I've ever tasted."

"It helps to take the edge off after a long day, and you get used to the taste eventually." Sandor opened a different cabinet and produced a bottle of dark red wine. "I'd peg you for a wine drinker, little bird." He went to work peeling the foil off and twisting the cork off with a wine-screw.

"I don't drink often, honestly," Sansa said, watching with desperate eyes as she waited for him to pour her a glass. Her throat was still on fire, and the rich red liquid looked as appealing as a tall glass of water to her right about now. "But when I used to, I usually did drink wine."

"Good, try and keep it that way," he grunted. He poured the glass with a bit of finesse that she normally might have taken the time to appreciate, was she not actively freaking dying, and passed it over to her. "It's a bad fucking habit, I'll tell you that."

Sansa drank it as fast as she could. While it was still strong and had some bite to it, it was nothing compared to the hell-water she had just consumed moments before. When she finally came up for air, Sandor was staring at her intently.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, wiping the corner of her mouth with her index finger. "Just thirsty."

Sandor grabbed the bottle of wine and handed it to her, scooping up his own glass bottle of whiskey as well. "The doc should still be on, I think it was at least two hours long. Let's go finish it while we wait for the food."

"I'd like that," she said, a broad smile breaking out on her face. She quickly contained her excitement, switching to a more neutral expression. "If you don't mind, I mean. I know it's getting late."

Sandor studied her for a moment, his grey eyes warm.

"No, little bird. I don't mind at all."

* * * * *

Sansa groaned lowly as her headache forced her into lucidity, she buried her face into her pillow in a futile attempt to fall back asleep. Her mouth felt thick and sour, and her head was throbbing in a way that sent a wave of nausea coursing through her. She sat up quickly, letting the covers pool around her waist as she fought back the urge to vomit.

Once the bile in her throat had subsided, Sansa immediately realized she wasn't in her room.

The walls were beige, rather than her soft heather grey, and absent was her matching white furniture. Instead there was an eclectic arrangement, wooden dressers and a rocking chair in the corner. Through the dark grey curtains, daylight was shining a bit _too_ brightly.

As the reality of the night before dawned on her, the urge to throw up reared its ugly head again.

_Oh, gods._

She was in Sandor's house.

In his _bed_ , more specifically. Noticeably absent from the bed was Sandor, of course, but that didn't mean much. She vaguely remembered him carrying her down the hall after a few too many drinks on her part, but that was it.

As she was trying to convince herself there was no possibility they had slept together, Sansa realized the shirt she was wearing was not her own. Even more damning, her jeans were inside-out on the floor alongside her own t-shirt and shoes. When her eyes drifted away from her discarded clothes, they landed on Sandor's alarm clock beside his bed.

1:58 P.M.

"Fuck," she hissed, scrambling to get out of the bed. When she was standing, she realized his shirt was so long it hit mid-thigh on her. She whipped it off quickly, tossing it onto the bed as she began dressing. She spotted her car keys on his nightstand and snatched them up.

The familiar sound of her phone buzzing caught her ears, and Sansa searched for it until she found it underneath one of the pillows on the bed.

She was greeted with the unwelcome sight of 7 missed calls, as well as a barrage of texts.

Arya had sent two messages, one asking where she was around three in the morning, and the other only an hour ago expressing concern and a vague threat of calling the police if she didn't respond soon.

The others were from Joffrey.

**4:40 p.m. Joff: where were u after class?**

**5:20 p.m. Joff: ?? Sansa my homework is due at 9 tonight**

**9:38 p.m. Joff: Y did I get an 87% on the homework? wtf**

**12:03 a.m. Joff: where the fuck r u?**

**8:21 a.m. Joff: hello????**

**1:58 p.m. Joff: Just called ur house. Ur mom said u were at your tutors last night and then a friends house and havent come home yet. Bull shit, u dont need a tutor and u dont have any friends. If u think u can just fuck around behind my back, guess again bitch.**

**1:59 p.m. Joff: forget about ur scholarship, dumb whore.**

Panicked, Sansa quickly tried to call him to sort it out. She was trying to structure a lie in her head about where she had been all night when a loud beep sounded on the phone, and a robotic voice told her the number could not be reached.

_He blocked me, oh my gods._

The panic was setting in, and Sansa quickly zipped her jeans as she tucked her phone into her pocket. She needed to get over to his house, she needed to explain that nothing had gone on and she hadn't cheated.

Or at least, she didn't think she had.

She flung the bedroom door open hastily, and nearly tripped over Sandor.

He was sleeping on the floor, directly in front of the room she'd been sleeping in. Under his head was a meager couch pillow and draped over half of his body was a knit blanket that looked older than she was.

Sandor startled at the sound of the door being yanked open, and he sat up instantly with an alarmed look on his half-asleep face.

"Sandor, you scared me," she gasped, nearly in tears from the way Joffrey had spoken to her. "What are you doing, laying out here?"

He groaned loudly, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before slowly climbing to his feet. He braced himself against the wall, his bloodshot eyes raking over her.

"I slept here. You were so blasted that I wanted to make sure you didn't puke in your sleep and choke to death," he grumbled, rubbing his face wearily with one hand.

Sansa's heart fluttered, as vile as the words sounded it was just about the sweetest thing she'd ever heard. He was worried for her and wanted to make sure she was okay.

Understanding washed over her as the rest of his words set in.

"So, we didn't..." she breathed with relief, her nerves subsiding at the admission that they hadn't slept together. "I mean, thank you. I meant it when I said I don't get drunk often, I really can't hold my drinks."

"No kidding," he said, a frown playing on his lips. "So, did you wan--"

"Listen, Sandor I had a really good time last night, and I appreciate how concerned you were for me, but I have to go. People have been worried about me, it's practically mid afternoon." She leaned up and gave him a quick hug, before she began walking backwards down the hall with her shoes in one hand and her keys in the other.

"I'll call you later, okay? Something kind of bad came up and I need to take care of it." She scooped up her backpack where she'd abandoned it the night before and slung it over her shoulder as she made to leave. "Bye, Sandor."

"Bye little bird," he mumbled, looking confused as she practically ran out of his house, still barefoot.

Once Sansa was in her car she tried Joffrey's number one last time, only to be greeted by the same automated message. She muttered a few cuss words before calling Arya instead, who picked up on the second ring.

"Sansa, what the actual fuck?" Arya demanded immediately, not even giving her a chance to speak.

"Arya--" Sansa started, glancing in her rear-view as she backed out of Sandor's driveway and made towards Joffrey's house.

"No, shut up. You literally had me scared, this is so not like you. This is...this is like _me_! I thought you were fucking hurt or something," Arya sounded a mix of panic and anger, before she paused for a moment to ask another question. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt--" Sansa tried, only to be cut off again.

"Then you're an idiot," Arya huffed, sounding out of breath. "Joffrey called the house and mom answered before I could. She told him what you'd said before you left last night and he hung up on her."

"I know," Sansa said, sighing deeply. "I'm driving to his house right now, he absolutely lost it on me over text and blocked me. He said he's pulling the scholarship." Sansa found herself nearly tearing up again at the mention of it, hating herself for her carelessness.

"Damn," Arya said softly. "That little cunt. What, does he think you were cheating on him?"

"Yeah, I think that's the gist of it. I need to convince him that I wasn't, you know how tight money has been since..." the words caught in Sansa's throat, and she found herself unable to say them. She'd spoken so plainly about it with Sandor last night because of her anger, but her father's death wasn't something she could normally bring up without feeling emotionally drained.

Not to mention, Arya didn't suffer the same issues as Sansa so she couldn't fully grasp the weight of the matter. Arya had excelled at lacrosse in high school, earning herself a scholarship to King's University so long as she maintained her grades at a mediocre average.

Sansa, on the other hand, had to fight tooth and nail for every academic scholarship against the hundreds of others at her college who were equally as scholarly as her. King's University tuition wasn't cheap by any means, and her family didn't need more debt than they already had. Their mother had enough to contend with for Sansa to be asking her to cosign on a loan that they probably wouldn't even get approved for.

"I know," Arya cut in gently, not wanting her to have to say it. "But Sansa, you know I gotta ask. Where were you last night? Not that I care or anything, you can cheat on Joffrey seven days a week for all the shits I give."

"No! Absolutely not!" Sansa said defiantly, her cheeks burning. Truthfully, she hadn't even been sure twenty minutes ago that she didn't cheat, but that wasn't exactly something Arya needed to know about right this instant.

Sansa drew in a long breath as she went into an explanation of how she had gone to Sandor's house to be tutored, how she had seen his scars, and that she had gotten drunk and fallen asleep there.

"Holy shit, Sansa. That's intense," Arya commented finally after she had finished. "For you, I mean, that's like a regular Tuesday for me."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I totally didn't expect more than him to teach me a few finance things when I went over there. Much less to see his scars, tell my deepest darkest secrets, and then end up drunk in his bed."

"How bad are they? His scars, I mean?" Arya probed. "Are they like Halloween-mask bad or what?"

"Honestly, they're not as bad as I thought they would be. But it's a bit of a shock from how we last saw him, I'll say that much. Listen, I'm pulling up to Joffrey's house now. I'll talk to you when I get home." Sansa felt the bile rising up her throat again as she said the words, dread sitting heavy in her stomach.

"Good luck," Arya said, sounding nervous for her as they bid their goodbyes and ended the call.

Sansa swallowed hard as the sight of the Lannister house came into view, having to duck her head to see all four stories of it.

Throughout her entire childhood, friends had called the Stark's home a castle. But if her house was a castle, she didn't know what that made Joffrey's. It was enormous, and every time she laid eyes on it, she felt intimidated. The entire thing was constructed of old beige colored bricks, turrets scattered throughout the face of it and huge rounded dormers that made it look ancient. She had heard Cersei mention once that it was hundreds of years old, and it wasn't hard to believe.

It was part of the reason Sansa was baffled why Joffrey wanted to move out so badly. Clearly, he craved freedom from his mother, but even the luxurious apartments he wanted to move into were nothing compared to his family's estate.

As Sansa approached the gate that was guarded by two stone lions, she pressed the buzzer and was greeted by the voice of one of the Lannister security guards inquiring about her presence.

"Sansa Stark to see Joffrey Baratheon, please," she said meekly, quietly praying to gods she didn't quite believe in anymore that she wouldn't be turned away.

There was a silence for a good three minutes before the voice crackled back over the speaker telling her she was good to enter.

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief as she thanked the man, pausing for a moment to allow the ornate black metal gate in front of her to swing open, before driving through.

Her heart was in her throat all the way up the winding driveway, and when she stopped in front of the door the valet came to take her keys. Sansa abandoned her backpack in the car, readying herself in front of the door as her car sped away behind her.

_I'm just going to tell the truth, that's it._

Sansa considered for a moment as she rapped on the door what the truth truly entailed, all the late-night phone conversations, the night on the hill, and waking up in Sandor's bed.

_Well, maybe just part of the truth then._

Within a few moments, the Lannister butler was at the door greeting her.

"Good afternoon, Miss Stark," his silver tongue said smoothly, a smile forming at his lips as he took in her appearance. Sansa suddenly realized she might look disheveled, not even having bothered to check her hair and makeup in the car mirror.

"Hello, Varys. Is Joffrey here?" she asked nervously, reaching up to rake her fingers through her hair and immediately hitting a few knots.

"Joffrey awaits you in his study," Varys said coolly, though his eyes had a knowing look. He stood to the side, holding the door open for Sansa and bowing slightly at the waist with a sweep of his hand as he gestured for her to come inside.

Sansa stepped in carefully, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor of the foyer as she made her way to the left side of the double staircase. She'd been to Joffrey's house enough times to know it like the back of her hand, despite its size, and yet she somehow managed to get lost twice before ending up in front of the room she thought to be his study.

She also wasn't exactly sure why Joffrey _needed_ a study, as he never did his own homework, but she imagined it didn't matter much when they had a dozen rooms laying empty.

Before she could knock, the door was yanked open suddenly. Sansa found herself face to face with one of the household security guards, a man named Trant that had gone to high school around the same time as her brother Robb.

Sansa had never liked the man, Joffrey had occasionally brought him to parties when they were younger and flaunted him to his friends as his 'body guard'. He'd intentionally start fights, and then have Trant finish them.

She especially didn't like the way he was looking at her now. Trant's beady eyes traveled the length of her slowly, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips as his gaze settled on her breasts.

"Who is it, Trant?" Joffrey squawked from somewhere in the background, but Sansa suspected he knew it was her.

"It's the Stark bitch," Trant said with a grin, pulling the door open and exposing Joffrey to her view. Her face grew hot as his words, and her anxiety shot through the ceiling as her eyes fell upon Joffrey.

He was sitting behind as massive, ornate, oak desk. Metal brackets adorned every inch of the side that faced her, lions scattered throughout. His feet were propped up onto the top of it, arms crossed behind his head as he leaned back in an equally outrageous leather chair.

"Ah, so it is," Joffrey said with a viscous grin. "What are you doing here, Sansa? Didn't I make it clear that I never wanted to see your slutty ass ever again?"

Sansa felt her eyes prickling with tears as it became clear that they had set this up to humiliate her, and she bit her lip harshly as she slowly began to back out of the room.

Immediately, Trant's massive hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her back over the threshold, slamming the door behind her.

"Did he say you could leave, you stupid bitch?" Trant snarled in her face, before slinging her towards Joffrey in a way that left her arm immediately sore.

Sansa stumbled for a moment, catching herself from falling on the back of a smaller chair that was positioned in front of his desk.

"Please, sit," Joffrey said smugly, gesturing towards the chair as he lowered his feet from the desk. "I'm anxious to hear about all the ways you've been whoring behind my back."

Sansa was frozen in fear, the tears flowing freely down her face at this point as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. In all the years she'd been with Joffrey, he'd never spoken to her quite this way. He'd also never used Trant to hurt her, she hadn't even considered it a possibility. But it was clear from the blistering rage that was written all over his face that he had no intention of leaving her there unscathed, physically or otherwise.

" _Speak!"_ he snarled, slamming both of his hands on the desk in a resounding thud that made Sansa jump in her seat.

"I w-was at an old family friend's house, h-he was helping me with my finance homework," Sansa stuttered through her tears, his outburst breaking her from her stunned silence.

Joffrey stared at her for a long moment, and Sansa inadvertently flinched when he reached across the desk to grab a cup of water that had been placed there. He took a long drink and paused to consider the cup when he was done. In one swift motion, he flicked his wrist sharply and threw the water into Sansa's face as she recoiled.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as the shame of it all consumed her, her hair soaking wet and dripping pitifully while he considered her.

"You're a fucking liar," he hissed, throwing the cup hard across the room as he stood and rounded the desk to stand before her. Sansa cowered, ducking her head and covering her face. "You're a stupid, worthless, skank. You think you can just get away with this? Disgrace me like this? And-"

The intercom beeped suddenly on his desk, and Varys' silky-smooth voice came over clearly.

"Master Joffrey, your mother wishes to speak with you."

Joffrey grit his teeth and leaned across the desk, pushing the button and biting out a few harsh words.

"Tell her I'll talk to her later, I'm _busy_ right now," he snapped, his ugly rat face distorted with anger.

There was a silence for a moment, where Joffrey began to look smug, until Varys' voice interrupted once more.

"She insists that she speak to you now, sir," Varys said, ever calm.

Joffrey cussed profanities about his mother loudly, before leaning back over and pressing the button once more.

"Tell her I'll be there in a few minutes!" he screeched, before sweeping the intercom off the desk where the plastic was heard shattering on the floor.

"Fucking _cunt!_ " he sneered, pounding a fist on the desk. Joffrey turned his rage back towards Sansa, grabbing a fistful of her sopping hair and yanking her head up to look at him. "This is your fault, you stupid bitch. I've been trying to get you to move into the new apartment for months, _months!_ You give me piss-poor excuses and put it off as much as you, you don't think I know what you're doing? You don't think I _know_ you're using me for your fucking scholarship?"

He shook her harshly by her hair, and Sansa felt a sharp pain at her scalp as she cried out in distress.

"I let you squeeze by with your excuses, I even gave up on _fucking_ you for months because you weren't worth the energy to try and bed anymore. I've got news for you Sansa," he leaned in low and Sansa felt his wormy lips brushing against her ear. "That ends today. I'd fuck you right here, right now on this desk with Trant watching, holding you down even, if my mother wasn't waiting for me." He shoved her head sharply downward and slammed it into the top of the desk, before grabbing her and pulling her back to look at him again.

"You want your little fucking scholarship? You want the internship at my family's firm? You're moving in with me _next week_ in our new apartment, or you can drop the fuck out next semester and go wait tables at a diner for all I care." He was practically screaming in her face now, and Sansa was near wetting herself from fright.

She sobbed hopelessly, feeling sore all over from Trant and Joffrey's inflictions. She knew then that her future wasn't worth this kind of treatment, that she wouldn't stand for it. She'd _rather_ wait tables than be Joffrey's live in maid, or worse, his prostitute, for the foreseeable future.

"N-no, I won't do it," Sansa said through trembling breaths, tilting her head up high as she tried to hold on to what little pride she had left.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, and he glanced at Trant who was smirking slightly.

"Did you hear that, Trant? She won't, she says," he mocked, sneering.

"Heard her, but I don't believe it," he chuckled darkly. "Little wolf bitch has more to lose than she realizes."

Sansa stiffened slightly, and she wondered if that was some kind of vague physical threat. She slowly turned to look at Joffrey, her eyes pleading desperately.

"He's right, you know, Sansa. I could ruin more than just your life. There's something more at stake here, something that means a great deal to your _family._ " He was grinning now as if there was some deep dark secret, she knew nothing about.

"What are you talking about?" she pleaded quietly, anxiousness overwhelming her as her mind raced to understand.

"You don't know, do you?" he laughed deviously as he rounded his desk to sit back in his chair, propping his hand underneath his chin.

Sansa relaxed slightly at the fact he was no longer an imminent physical threat. She shook her head numbly in response.

"Do you know what bank holds the mortgage on your family's home, Sansa?"

"We don't have a mortgage," Sansa said, confused. "The house has long been paid off; it's been in our family for generations..."

Joffrey played with a pen on his desk, twirling it between his fingers. "Ah, almost right. You _didn't_ have a mortgage. But your dear father took out a second mortgage of a substantial amount on your house, you know, a few months before he did you all a favor and blew his worthless brains out."

Sansa felt sick, her head spinning as she tried to grasp the root of the vile things he was saying.

"There's no way. He wouldn't," she said softly in disbelief as she stared at Joffrey's shit-eating grin.

"Oh, but he did," Joffrey smirked. "Your family is at least six months delinquent right now on the payment, we could foreclose any day now. Mother has been kind, of course, insisted on not worrying you about it because she stupidly believes we'll be married one day." Joffrey spit onto the desk at that, as if the thought repulsed him now.

"No," Sansa whispered, hot tears spilling down her cheeks once again. The thought of losing their family home was too much to bear, all the memories she had there with her father. All the summers spent in the yard with her brothers and sisters, the bedtime stories her mother had read to her at bedtime.

They'd be homeless, with nowhere to go. Bran and Rickon were already staying with Aunt Lisa since their father had passed, but Arya and their mother? Where would they go?

"Please, don't," Sansa begged, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Joffrey shrugged, a bored look on his face as if Sansa were the dullest person he'd ever endured. 

"Mother refuses to foreclose because you're my girlfriend, I'm sure she'll see things differently when I tell her in a few minutes how you've been _whoring_ around and that I've left you."

"I haven't, I swear," Sansa said in a trembling voice. "We'll move in together, I promise. _Please_ don't do this," she said hopelessly, feeling lower than dirt. It didn't matter, though. If she could save their house, save what was left of her family, she'd drag her self-esteem through the mud as much as was necessary.

"Next week!" Joffrey demanded, pointing a shaky pale finger at her. "You won't put it off again, one word of protest and your pathetic family will be sleeping in the gutters."

"I _promise_ ," she emphasized again, feeling totally defeated.

"Good," he said triumphantly, "then it's settled." Just as he was standing to leave, Sansa's phone vibrated in her back pocket against the chair.

She froze, hoping it wasn't who she thought it might be.

Immediately, Joffrey's head snapped up at the noise. He gestured to Trant, who yanked Sansa from her chair and grabbed her phone from her back pocket. She felt sick at how he'd groped her butt while doing so, something that clearly wasn't an accident.

Joffrey snatched it greedily from Trant, his eyes scanning the screen as he read the message.

"It's your fuck-buddy," he said in a falsely cheerful voice. "He wants to know that you made it home okay. I'm sure you won't mind if I respond for you, Sansa. Just to be sure this won't ever happen again." He didn't wait for her permission, however. He was already typing angrily on her phone, and Sansa cringed as she tried to imagine what he might be writing.

When he was done, he threw the phone back into her lap callously.

"See yourself out," he barked, nodding for Trant to open the door for her. "I'll be in touch about the apartment, get your shit ready."

Sansa rose to her feet shakily, clutching her phone in her palm as she moved towards the exit. Just as she was into the safety of the hallway, the door slammed shut behind her. The sound reverberated deafeningly in the hallway.

It took all the energy she had to walk through the halls of the Lannister estate calmly, everything in her body screaming to run, but she was afraid Cersei might be watching. She faked a smile to Varys as he let her out the front door, even thanked the valet as she climbed into her car.

She'd kept her speed low on the way out of the driveway, despite the fact she wanted to slam on the gas and get away from her newfound personal hell.

When Sansa had left Joffrey's street finally, she pulled over onto the side of the road and collapsed onto her steering wheel. Her cries started first in short sobs, before escalating to full-on wails of despair.

She sat there crying for what felt like an eternity, before something niggled in the back of her mind. Slowly she remembered the final act of cruelty Joffrey had done before she left.

Her phone was discarded in the cup-holder, and she sniffled softly as she retrieved it to see what damage Joffrey had done.

She sucked in a breath as she read the messages.

**Sandor: Just checking in to see if everything is okay. You make it home alright?**

**Sansa: fuck off.**

**Sansa: i have a boyfriend.**

**Sansa: u were a huge mistake. dont talk to me ever again.**

Her lower lip began to tremble, and she realized Sandor hadn't texted back. Part of her wanted to drive right back to his house and throw herself into his arms and cry. Explain everything to him, apologize.

But it didn't matter anyways, she'd be living with Joffrey in a week. There would be no maintaining a friendship with Sandor even if she could patch this up. It wasn't worth the risk, it could cost her family everything.

So, Sansa did herself the biggest favor she could, the only thing that would take the temptation to fix things away. This wasn't just about her anymore, she needed to be strong for her family.

She blocked Sandor and erased all of their messages, a soft choking sob erupted from her chest that she swallowed back down. Pocketing her phone, Sansa put her car back into drive as she made her way home.

The only thing she could do is hold on to the hope that one day, she might be free of Joffrey. Maybe then she could explain herself to Sandor, if he'd listen.

One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me, I know that was rough to read. (I had trouble re-reading for spelling and grammar errors, I'll be honest. I suffered an abusive relationship where my ex would fly off the handle and accuse me of cheating and look at my phone. It made it simultaneously hard and easy to write this chapter because it's incredibly close to home.)
> 
> I promise there's a light at the end of the tunnel, here. But in the meantime let me know in the comments what you thought about this chapter.
> 
> (Also, I'm going to be trying to do one large chapter a week from here on out until I get a stockpile of chapters built up. What is a good day of the week for everyone? A weekday to breakup the monotony, or a weekend to enjoy it in your spare time? Thoughts? <3 )


	11. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, I know I said I would update Wednesday but something came up. Here is the chapter, as promised though (just a teeny bit late!)
> 
> Thank you again for all the comments, they really brighten my day.

_Obsession: a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling._

Sandor wasn't a hundred percent sure he agreed with the definition, especially not the bit about it being unreasonable.

Unhealthy? Maybe. Unattractive? Fucking definitely.

But not unreasonable. Unreasonable was the expectation that he could just _forget_ about Sansa Stark without any further effort.

And maybe that's why he found himself trying to call Sansa the day after she'd told him off over text.

It had stung like a bitch to have her dismiss him so easily. Not to mention the fact she'd seen his scars the night before, got rip-roaring drunk, and then ran off first thing after waking up. The hateful side of himself was assured it was because of his face, that she'd held it together long enough for the evening so she could pride herself on being accepting and a good person before realizing he was too fucking ugly for even her to deal with.

Yet the more he thought about it, which was often, the less it made sense to him. Sure, she'd ran out of his house at lightning speed that morning, but not before she kissed him on the cheek. It _had_ been rather late in the day, surely the little bird had things to do.

Nevertheless, his probing phone-call delivered one final blow.

Sansa Stark had blocked him.

He wanted to be angry that she hadn't had the decency to tell him to fuck off to his face, but all he felt was a pit in his stomach that gnawed at him with every passing hour that he didn't hear from her.

Despite his best interest, he'd gone for a jog the night before. The irony of it was bitter as fucking hell. Sansa had all but blackmailed him into spending time with her the last time he had ran by her house, and now here he was intentionally trying to put himself in the same path. But much to his chagrin, there hadn't been any sign of light in her window. Her car was in the driveway, which put his mind at ease to some extent.

And yet, that wasn't enough to stop him from jogging by her house again the next night. Strange as it was, Sandor found he hadn't craved a drink since the little bird had begun ignoring him, instead he craved other things.

Things he had no fucking business craving, but he craved them none the less. Her easy laugh that seemed to bubble up with every joke he told, no matter how dry it came out. The way her hands felt against his skin, gentle and curious.

More than anything, though, he craved her lips against his cheek. The way her breath felt against his ruined skin when she leaned in. The slight pause before the plushness of her supple lips pressed against the thickness of his scars.

He lay in bed at night now, imagining he'd had some fucking balls all those times she kissed his cheek. That he might have turned his lips to hers, rather than just standing there like a statue and taking it. At least he'd have that memory now, instead of the aching realization that he'd never have that chance again.

It was that very thought keeping him up right now, well after midnight. Sandor was laying with his hands laced behind his head, playing over the night she'd first seen his face as he tried to discern what had gone wrong.

Sansa had seemed almost relieved at the sight of him, as if she'd feared much worse. It still hadn't comforted him enough to stop him from running to the bottle, but it helped. He wasn't any judge of a woman's interest anymore, but the little bird had been nearly _flirting_ with him when he'd fixed himself a drink.

And after she'd had a few herself, it hadn't stopped there. Maybe Sandor should have felt bad for letting a young girl who was attached to someone else get so tipsy, but he wasn't one of the bloody Seven for fucks sake. Watching her inhibitions fall away and hearing her speak plainly, the occasional cuss dropping from her normally prim lips, it was more intoxicating than the whiskey. She’d made innuendos towards him, and commented openly on anything of sexual nature in the documentary.

Not to mention the little bird couldn't drink worth a damn, she was barely more than three cups of wine in before she started dozing off.

When he'd picked her up to take her to his bed, Sansa had wrapped her lithe arms around his neck and buried her face into the crook of his shoulder all the way to the bedroom. Sandor had given her one of his shirts to sleep in, but she had caught his hand when he made to leave.

_"Stay with me?" she'd whispered sleepily, words thick with the effects of her drink, clutching his folded shirt to her chest as she stared up at him._

_"I'll be right outside the door, little bird. I promise," he'd rasped lowly, a lump getting caught in his throat as he watched her lower lip jut out in a pout._

He hadn't even fucking minded sleeping on the floor after that, and Sandor had listened to her even breaths through the door as he drifted off.

Even that peaceful memory wasn't helping him fall asleep now, though. Instead it sent his mind racing again as he tried to figure out what in seven hells had changed overnight.

It was well after midnight, but all the same Sandor found himself shoving the covers off and redressing into his clothes that he had abandoned on the floor only an hour or so prior. Sleep wasn't coming tonight anyways, that was certain.

* * * * *

For the third night in a row now, he was making his way down Winterfell lane. Luck, of course, was utter bullshit, but the phrase 'third time's the charm' suited him well enough on this occasion.

Tonight was different than the others, though. All pretenses dropped, Sandor had worn jeans and a t-shirt rather than his usual hoodie and sweatpants. If he ran into the little bird, he wasn't going to lie to her about why he was passing by. There was too much shit between them already, if he got the chance to speak to her, he wasn't going to add any more.

When he finally made it to the front of the Stark house, he noticed Sansa's bedroom window had a faint glow to it this time. Any other time he would have been bloody well pleased to see her curtains were finally drawn, but tonight it made his gut wrench in disappointment.

He stood there for a few minutes, mentally willing her to come to her window for absolutely no reason at one thirty in the morning.

When enough time had passed, Sandor raked a rough palm over his face and blew a frustrated breath through clenched teeth. Slowly, he turned and began to walk away.

"That's it? You really give up _that_ easily?" A mocking, vaguely familiar, female voice taunted him in the dark.

Sandor's head snapped up as his eyes searched the dark, and that was when he saw a figure sitting in the shadows of the porch on a rocking chair.

"Who the fuck are you?" Sandor growled, his body going tense at the realization he'd been caught by someone who wasn't Sansa.

The figure stood from the chair and casually strolled down the steps, and into his view came the sight of a short girl with messy brown hair. She was dressed more like a boy, though, right down to the dirty skateboarding shoes. Her face was plain, but the girl's eyes were much like Sandor's, grey in color.

"I would say I'm hurt that you don't recognize me, but I barely recognize you," she said brazenly, her dark eyebrows quirking up as she scanned his face in turn.

He hadn’t forgotten her, of course, but the memory of her had been somewhere lost in the recesses of his mind.

"Arya," he said dryly, the corner of his mouth tugging down with disdain as he recalled the boyish younger Stark sister from his youth. "The fuck are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

She turned slowly, sliding her hands into her pocket as she regarded the building behind her, before swiveling back to look at him.

"It _is_ my house," she said with a bored look on her face. "The better question would be, what are _you_ doing out here in the middle of the night?"

Sandor swallowed hard, his tongue grazing the inside of his teeth as he searched for an answer that didn't sound completely deranged or fucking creepy.

"I already know the answer to that, though," Arya said, a catlike grin breaking out across her face as she halted his thoughts. "It's the same reason tonight as the other two nights that you've come by here. You're persistent, I'll give you that much."

Sandor recoiled inwardly at the notion that he'd been noticed so frequently; it was a wonder the little bird hadn't called the police on him yet.

"I'll leave," he grunted, giving her a flippant wave as he went to turn away again.

Arya huffed loudly, and when Sandor glanced back she was rolling her eyes as hard as she could manage.

"Stranger spare me, you've got more angst than I did when I was thirteen. Do you want to see Sansa or not? I'm only going to ask once, it's bad enough I've been waiting out here for you for the last two hours." Her tone was sour, but behind her displeased expression he could see a flicker of hope that left him curious.

"It doesn't bloody matter what I want," he said through clenched teeth, dragging a hand through his hair as his nails scraped against his scalp. "She doesn't want to fucking talk to me, I'm not going to force her."

Arya shot him another _give-me-a-break_ look, sighing exaggeratedly.

"There's a lot you don't know about here, believe me. For fucks sake, _I_ don't even know all of it. Sansa won't tell me. That's the only reason I give half a damn about you stalking our house every night, you're the only person she would trust right now."

Sandor found himself laughing quietly at that, the sting of rejection burning through him again as he forced himself to spit out the bitter words. "She told me to fuck off, then blocked me from reaching out to her again. I'm pretty sure I'm the last person she wants to see right now."

Arya gave him a once over, shaking her head as she gestured him towards the house with her index finger. "Just come in, you're depressing the fuck out of me." She turned and strode back up the steps, carefully opening the living room door and disappearing inside.

A knot formed in Sandor's throat as he froze for a moment, all manner of possibilities running through his mind.

As far as he knew, Robb and Jon could well be in the house, not to mention their mother. The only thing worse than being told to leave by Sansa would be if her entire family were around to witness it.

Still, he moved numbly towards the door where dim lights were lit inside. When he was past the threshold, Arya was standing at the foot of the stairs waiting for him.

She pressed a finger to her lips and beckoned her head up the stairs immediately to the right as she began to climb them.

The house looked familiar, even in the dim lighting, but Sandor felt too much like a fucking burglar in that moment to appreciate any of the fond childhood memories that might have come roaring back.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Arya walked to the third door on the right and gave a few quick knocks before opening it and stealing inside.

"Arya!" Sansa yelped quietly from within the room, sending Sandor's palms sweating instantly. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but for some reason he had half expected her not to be here.

Hushed voices were arguing, but after a minute or two Arya reappeared in the doorway and nodded for him to go in.

"I'll be downstairs on the couch watching TV, so uh, enjoy your privacy," she said with a smug look, before disappearing down the stairs into the darkness.

Sandor wet his lips with his tongue slowly, suddenly feeling parched as he moved towards Sansa's door.

He imagined her receiving him a hundred different ways. Angry, pleased, nervous, uncomfortable. You name it, it had crossed his mind.

But one thing he hadn't anticipated happened instead.

Sansa was sitting on the end of a yellow comforter clad bed, wringing her hands as she stared at him with trembling lips. He slowly moved past the door, closing it behind him as he tried to think of something, _anything,_ to say to her.

"Sandor," she whispered in a voice full of emotion, wetness threatening around her eyes as she reached her shaking arms towards him.

No sooner had the first tear began to fall down her cheek, Sandor was across the room in an instant. He dropped to his knee in front of her, making them eye level as he wrapped her in his embrace.

"Little bird," he croaked softly, relief and confusion washing over him as he crushed her small figure against his chest. He buried his face into a curtain of her hair, breathing deeply he caught the soft scent of vanilla and lemons.

Sansa clung to him desperately, handfuls of his shirt in her palms as she shoved her face against his neck and choked out an endless stream of tears.

It pained him in a way he had never felt before, somehow worse than the day he got his scars. Her tears weren't that of a silly little girl with a broken heart, Sansa was _terrified._ She was getting to the point where she couldn't even breathe from crying so hard, and Sandor forced himself to pull away and look her in the eyes.

"Sansa, what-" he began, leaning back just enough to look at her. But at this close range, it only took a moment for his eyes to pick up on what was the source of her tears.

A dark purple bruise that was at least a few days old framed one side of Sansa's face, barely hidden by her hair.

He lifted his trembling fingers to her chin as he tilted her head to angle a closer look.

"What happened?" he rasped lowly, trying to keep calm, but his nostrils were already flaring as he anticipated her answer.

She held her head high, lips still trembling as the tears continued, but she didn't answer him. Instead, Sansa wrapped her arms around her chest as if she were holding herself together.

At first, he thought she was cold as she was only wearing a tank top. But almost immediately his eyes zeroed in on a similar mark on her upper arm.

Equally garish bruises made the shape of a hand, darker in the middle as if whoever had grabbed her there had done it with as much force as possible.

"Sansa," he repeated between shallow breaths as blind rage without a target began to cloud his vision.

His mind was suddenly full of depraved thoughts as he imagined slowly torturing whoever had done this to her, breaking the wrists of a man who would ever dare lay a hand on a woman as gentle as the little bird who sat before him now. Wrapping his own massive palms around their throat and choking the life out of them-

"Sandor," she whimpered suddenly, and when his vision snapped back to reality, he saw terror in her eyes. Fear of him, of whatever he was thinking. He imagined his depraved thoughts were written all over his face.

The little bird was half-right to be afraid, in this case. He was capable of doing a great many terrible things, just not to her.

But he pushed those images away, desperate in this moment for answers.

"Tell me who it was, little bird," he said lowly, his fingertips brushing against the bruises on her arm as he sized the hand against his own.

Whomever it belonged to could possibly rival him in size, that was certain. No boy whore like Joffrey Baratheon could leave marks like this on a woman, not on his own, at least.

"It doesn't matter," she said quietly, raising her fingertips to her eyes to wipe the slowing tears away. "I can't tell you; you'll only make it worse."

He swallowed hard, determined to stay calm still despite her refusal. "What's worse than this, little bird?"

She choked out a miserable laugh, her sad blue eyes meeting his once more.   
"I can't tell you that either, Sandor. It's...It's all a mess. I don't want you to get involved, he's capable of so much worse than this." Her voice held familiarity to whoever she was talking about, and he was almost certain at this point who had done this.

"Was it Joffrey?" he said through gritted teeth, scanning her face for any tells.

She flinched instinctively, looking away from him as she wrung her hands in her lap again.

 _The little bird is like an open book,_ he thought, as rage began to build up inside him again. The idea that anyone could hurt someone as innocent as her just tore him apart and fueled a furnace in his chest that hadn't felt so much as a spark in years.

Instead of pressuring her any further, he raised from his knees slowly and sat beside her on the bed. It gave instantly under the weight of him, sending Sansa careening sideways into his embrace.

He caught her quickly, and before she could protest, he dragged her into his lap and tucked the auburn top of her head beneath his chin. His hand slowly stroked her back soothingly, his own fingers trembling, and he pressed his lips to the peak of her hairline firmly as he began to rock her back and forth in his arms.

Sandor found that his heart was hammering in his chest, but it was not for rage or for fear. The desire to protect her overwhelming him to the point of suffocation, and the thought that someone else had even been able to harm her like this was too much to fucking bear.

His throat had closed off somewhere along the lines, and it made his words come out strained and warbled.

"I would kill for you, you know," he sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his lips to her forehead once more. "I would do worse things than that, even. I'd torture him, beat him within an inch of his life and send him groveling at your feet."

"Sandor, stop," Sansa said in a horrified voice, shifting in his grasp to look up at him. But Sandor was staring at a blank spot on her wall, his mind burning with anguish and blood lust.

"I'd make him beg for your forgiveness, bloody and shamed, and then I'd take his miserable life anyways. Just to give back some of what he took from you when he did this," he rasped, his voice thick and mangled as the hateful words spewed out of him.

Sansa's tender hands gripped the sides of his face, angling him to look down at her in his lap. Shock and concern were in her eyes, and he vaguely felt her thumb wiping at wetness on his ruined cheek.

"I'm not a godly man, little bird, but may the Stranger take me if I'm lying," he leaned in, lowering his gaze as he touched his forehead to hers. His breath came out ragged and harsh. "I'm going to make him pay for this, I swear it."

He didn't meet her gaze, whether it was out of fear of her seeing the monster he was inside, or uneasiness over her seeing him shed tears, he wasn't sure. Regardless, he didn't see it coming when Sansa leaned in closer to him.

Her tear-stained lips brushed faintly against his, freezing him in place. He held his breath for a moment, nearly wondering if she had meant to do it, before her mouth pressed deeper against his.

It was a chaste kiss, even still, and Sandor was sure she only meant it as a kindness until he felt her hands slip around the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair.

A low, involuntary, groan escaped him and muffled against her lips as he tightened his arms around her. His chest grew tight as his mind swam with questions he didn't dare ask, warmth pooling immediately in his groin as she moved against him.

As if emboldened by the sound, Sansa stroked his lower lip with her tongue, lingering on the burned part a bit longer than the rest. She didn't seem repulsed, though, as she slowly sucked his lower lip into her mouth and grazed her teeth against it.

"Sansa," he growled against her mouth, tasting her name on his lips in this new light, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in the silky red mane he'd longed to touch for weeks now. All of it felt foreign, years fading his memories of how a woman liked to be touched.

If she found his inexperienced kisses clumsy, she didn't show it. Instead she directed his eager lips to the crook of her neck, soft gasps and hums filling his ears as he kissed her in tender spots along her neckline.

Sandor was hard as a fucking rock beneath her, and it took all of his willpower not to grind against her in his lap. It would be too much, too soon, even he knew that.

Still, just the brush of his tongue along Sansa's jaw and neck was sending his head spinning, and he found himself pulling away suddenly as the sensation grew too strong.

"W-what's wrong?" Sansa panted softly, and he took in the sight of her leaned back in his arms.

Her pupils were blown out, and her hair was all ruffled in a way that sent his pulse racing with the implications of it.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he white-lied, not willing to admit he had nearly lost control just from kissing her. "You're too vulnerable right now, little bird. Under other circumstances, I'd take you without a second thought and consider myself the luckiest fucking man in the Westeros."

As Sandor came down off of his lust-filled high, he realized it was regrettably true. Sansa was looking for comfort right now, even if that came in the form of being claimed by an ugly fucker like him. Even he wasn't fucked up enough to take her when she was feeling this insecure.

She smoothed down her hair nervously, biting her lip in a way that sent his mind racing all over again.

"You're right," she whispered, seeming ashamed suddenly. Sandor felt his heart drop, though part of him had expected this was all too fucking good to be true anyways.

He averted his gaze, and his eyes landed on a digital clock that sat on her dresser, realizing it was past two.

"It’s getting late, I should go," he said gruffly, using the excuse to escape from the awkward situation. He shifted her out of his lap onto the bed and moved to stand, but she quickly reached out and caught him by the arm before he was able to walk away.

"Wait," Sansa pleaded softly, and he couldn't resist looking back at her one more time. "Will you stay? Just for tonight?"

The implications of her request collapsed on him instantly, and he tried to imagine himself sharing a bed with Sansa Stark for the night, even under platonic circumstances.

"What about your family?" he protested half-assedly. He took the moment to assess her room, having been too blinded by rage and lust to have even noticed it before.

It was big, nearly as big as his living room and kitchen combined. Every piece of furniture was white, and the only other color in the room was her chick-yellow comforter. There wasn't even a single poster or piece of art on the walls. It was surprisingly barren, for a girl like Sansa.

"They won't check in on me, except maybe for Arya," she said, chewing her lip nervously. "I have a bathroom, behind you, if you need to clean up before bed. There's a pack of fresh toothbrushes in the cabinet, if you don't mind the color pink."

Sandor pretended he had to consider her offer for a moment, but he eventually shrugged a shoulder in nonchalance, as if sharing a bed with her was the most natural thing in the world to him.

"Alright, then."

A slow smile curled onto Sansa's lips, mixed with something that looked like relief. She stood and led him to the bathroom, where they brushed their teeth next to each other in silence. Sansa had turned herself away from him slightly, as if she seemed embarrassed to be doing her nightly routine in front of him.

He'd look on curiously, not deterred by her shyness. Everything she did was interesting to him, and every desperate desire he'd had in the past few days was satiated by her presence.

Sandor was done getting ready for bed long before Sansa, and she encouraged him to 'get comfortable' while she was finishing up in the bathroom.

...Whatever the fuck _that_ meant, he wasn’t sure.

He stood by her bed hesitantly, deciding in the very least to shed his jeans. His boxer-briefs were long enough that he didn't feel naked, but he normally slept shirtless.

Sandor carefully peeled back the sheets and climbed into her bed anyways, still wearing his shirt to be safe. He sat up rather than laying down, her covers pooled around his waist as he waited for her.

When Sansa reappeared in the bathroom door, her hair was neatly braided off to one side and her face looked rosy pink as if she had just scrubbed it. She looked so fucking adorable it almost hurt, and Sandor couldn't help the smile that twitched the corner of his lips.

Sansa looked very pointedly disappointed, and she shifted uncomfortably, staring at him.

"What are you staring at, little bird?" he said, scratching self-consciously at the beginning of his beard that was growing back in.

"I just um," she fiddled with the end of her braid, her eyes not meeting his, "I kind of wanted to wear your shirt again, like the other day." Her cheeks were aflame suddenly, as if she had said something profusely embarrassing.

Sandor chuckled and grasped the hem of his shirt with his hand, pulling it up and over his head in one swift motion as he tossed it over to her.

"Knock yourself out, little bird, I was only wearing it for your benefit anyways," he said, pleased with her admission.

She caught it quickly, but her lips fell open in shock when her gaze settled on him again.

He watched as her eyes raked over his bare chest, in a way that boosted Sandor's normally non-existent ego for the second time that night.

Finally, after what felt like minutes of gawking, she snapped her gaze back up to his eyes and bit her lip shyly.

_Gods, those damn lips._

"Close your eyes," Sansa said sharply, all business now as she cast him a mock warning glance.

Sandor closed his eyes and covered them with his palm without hesitation, though he couldn't keep the smirk off of his lips as any number of smart-ass remarks came to mind. Instead, he kept silent, not wanting to scare her off.

After the click of a light, Sandor heard her soft voice, suddenly much closer, whisper to him, "I'm done now." She slid into bed beside him, and Sandor swallowed hard as he realized they were in the dark now together.

He expected her to roll over and go to sleep, merely comforted by his presence, but Sansa slowly sidled up to him and rested her palm on his chest.

"You're very hairy," she whispered, sounding fascinated rather than disgusted. Her fingers trailed up and down his chest, sending his mind racing to lewd places all over again.

"Does it bother you?" he whispered roughly, his voice growing tight as her curious fingertips played with the hair just above his waistband.

"No," she giggled lasciviously in the dark, and her hands wandered back up his chest into safer places. She ran her palms over his shoulders and arms, testing each place she explored with a firm squeeze. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I like everything about you," she said gently, still groping at his muscles. "You're strong, everywhere, you're like something out of a romance novel," she sighed dreamily, and Sandor resisted the urge to correct her that the men in romance novels didn't normally have ground chuck for a face.

"You read a lot of those?" he asked instead, suppressing the urge to touch her back.

"I think you'd be surprised at how many I've read," she sighed, finally resting her hand in the middle of his chest.

"You don't strike me as the type," he said lowly, turning his face towards her in the dark, silently wishing he could see her.

"What does _that_ mean?" she sounded offended, but not terribly.

Sandor shrugged in the dark, before turning fully onto his side. He could feel the soft exhale of her breath, she was so close. "It doesn't mean anything negative, little bird, don't take it the wrong way. I only meant that you seem like..." he trailed off, not wanting to say it wrong.

"Like a good girl?" she asked, seeming to resent the words as she spoke them.

"Something like that," he chuckled quietly, liking that she got bothered at the idea. Of course Sansa Stark was a ‘good girl’, even on her worst day she was probably leagues above most women in decency.

She was quiet for a few minutes, and he began to drift off to sleep when she hadn't spoken for a while.

"Hey, Sandor?" she whispered, her fingertips stroking his hair away from his ear gently.

"Mmm?" he responded, barely awake.

Sansa leaned in close, her lips brushing against the shell of his good ear as she murmured to him quietly, "I'm not wearing a bra under your shirt."

Sandor's eyes snapped open suddenly, and as the mental picture began to form in his head, Sansa rolled over away from him with a soft giggle.

"Goodnight, Sandor."

He groaned quietly at her teasing, his arousal bringing him back to lucidity.

"Goodnight, little bird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unfortunately had a horrible day yesterday, and was unable to write/upload because of it. So I stayed up all night finishing this chapter so that I didn't make you guys wait any longer.
> 
> Hope you like it! I'll be back next Wednesday with another (on-time) update as that's now our new scheduled upload day.


	12. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is part 1 of a chapter I was working on that just got too long. I usually alternate between Sansa and Sandor week to week, but the next update will be from Sansa's perspective again. The first part of the chapter is fluffy and light and the second part is going to be a bit heavier, so it felt natural to split them.
> 
> Hope you like it, thanks!

Sleeping next to Sandor was decidedly not without benefits.

For starters, Sansa had somehow slept soundly for the first time in days. Since the day Joffrey had threatened her, she'd had a terrible go of it. Either waking from nightmares, or just unable to sleep with the morbid thoughts that kept her mind racing.

More than that, though, it was like sharing a bed with a human furnace.

Sandor absolutely radiated heat throughout the entire night, and with the air conditioning blasting it felt amazing. Arya liked to keep it cold in the house, which usually meant Sansa was piling on the comforters.

She was pondering all of this as she stared at him, mere inches away, somewhere around ten in the morning she guessed by the way the light was streaming through her curtains.

His long, dark hair was draped over his features, with his scars pressed into the pillow and out of sight. One arm was lain above the covers, and it gave her the opportunity to marvel at him without his knowledge.

Sandor Clegane was, without a doubt, the most massive man she'd ever seen. She found herself carefully measuring her hand against his, admiring the size difference. Sandor could hurt most people without even the smallest bit of effort, given his strength, but he was instead gentle with her.

Joffrey had so little strength, and instead had used someone else to harm her.

It was a difference of kindness, more than anything.

Sansa felt her stomach knot up as she realized that she couldn't keep the details from Sandor much longer, that he'd be waking up and wanting to know the truth of everything that was going on.

Even _Sansa_ didn't know what was going on, it was like her entire world had been thrown upside down. She'd already packed half of her stuff, save for her furniture, as Joffrey had insisted that he pick the furnishings of the new apartment. It left her room feeling empty, and not like home. So one by one, she'd stowed away mementos to keep her strong going forward. Pictures of her father, a drawing she'd done in high school of a horse, a poster of her favorite band. Sansa had gotten teary eyed while doing so, feeling further from her father than ever at the notion of leaving the house where there were so many memories between them.

Regardless, it wasn't a conversation she was looking to engage in with Sandor at this moment. It was uncomfortable, of course, but the idea that she would need to tell him that she was moving in with Joffrey sent her blood running cold. There would be no friendship between her and Sandor, and definitely no kissing and bed-sharing.

Her lower lip trembled at the thought of losing him, so instead she scooted closer to him beneath the sheets and slid her arm around his burly waist.

Just as she was getting comfortable, she felt Sandor's breathing change from even to slightly erratic. Carefully, her eyes fluttered open.

Sandor was staring at her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath. His grey eyes were searching, nervous, as if he expected something terrible.

"Good morning." Sansa's words came out more timid than she meant for them to.

He seemed to relax a bit at that, a low sigh escaping him as he reached up to drag his palm across his face.

"Morning, little bird."

A small smile played on her lips, and she slowly ran the flat of her palm across his abs and up his chest. "Did you sleep well?" The question was innocent enough, but paired with her touch it took on an entirely different meaning.

Sandor made a quiet grunt of contentment, and to Sansa's surprise he gently began stroking her cheek with his fingertips. His eyes were warm, now, and she felt her face pinken as he caressed her jawline.

"Pretty damn well, all things considered," his voice rumbled, and she saw him glance around her room with an unfamiliar gaze.

Sansa knew the feeling all too well, having woken up in Sandor's room not even a week prior.

"Me, too," she said softly, smiling at him. "I feel so safe next to you, this is the first decent sleep I've had in days."

The corner of his mouth turned up, as if the sentiment of being her protector pleased him, but almost immediately it vanished as he registered her words fully.

Sandor shifted, breaking their embrace as he propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. "You gonna tell me now what's going on?" His voice was firm, but not unkind, as his eyes raked over the bruises on her face.

Her stomach soured, all manner of upsetting things bursting forth into her mind as she tried to find a place to start.

Instead, she swallowed back the building anxiety and stared into his eyes. "Can we not talk about this right now, please? I don't want to spoil the moment."

A scowl broke out across his face, and immediately he fought back, " Sansa-"

" _Please._ I promise, I will tell you everything, just not right this second," she bit nervously on her lower lip. "Not when there's so many other things I'd rather be doing." She emphasized her meaning by leaning up to press a gentle kiss against his lips, nearly melting when his mouth moved back against hers without hesitation.

Her tongue traced the scarred texture of the corner of his mouth, exploring how different it felt than the rest. Sandor groaned lowly cupping her cheek in his hand and softly working his lips against hers for a few moments, before breaking away reluctantly.

"I need to leave, Sansa," he said in a near-tortured voice, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Your family is probably already awake, I don't know how the fuck I'm going to get out of here unseen."

"Let them see," Sansa said with a shrug of her shoulder, uncaring. When he reacted with a displeased expression, she quickly added, "or, we can stay here long enough for everyone to leave. I can think of a few things to pass the time." She leaned up for another kiss, and Sandor caught her chin in his fingertips as he stared at her curiously.

"When did you get so brave, little bird?" he murmured, holding her face just short of his.

"I'm not brave," she said, the truth of it sending a sad pang through her. "Not at all, really. I'm scared of a lot of things. I live my life scared, lately, it seems."

His mouth formed a hard frown, his gaze searching her as he went to speak once more.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It's true," she said firmly. "But do you wanna know what scared me the most, these last few days? More than the bruises?"

He shook his head ever so slightly, questioning her silently.

Sansa felt her lips begin to quiver, the painful reminder getting her choked up. "The thought of losing you scared me more than anything. The thought of never seeing you again. Gods, Sandor, it nearly broke me apart..." Her voice fell off, unable to finish the thought.

Sandor bridged the gap between them, his mouth claiming hers harshly in a way that knocked all the air from her lungs. He dug his fingers into her hair, pulling his lips back just enough to speak, and when he did his voice was rough and breathless.

"I'm not going anywhere, little bird," he growled, melding his mouth to hers once more in a passionate kiss.

 _But I am,_ she thought hopelessly.

"You don't need to be afraid, nothing is going to happen to you so long as I'm around," he rasped, pulling her into a tight embrace as he buried his face in her hair.

 _You can't help me,_ the words were nearly on her lips.

Instead, she reveled in the reality of where she was then and now. Perhaps one day Sandor Clegane would find his way into her bed again, but that wasn't in the near future. She wasn't going to waste this time that they had worrying about the inevitable.

Sansa placed her palm flat against his bare chest, rolling him firmly onto his back as she moved to straddle his waist.

He pulled back from her suddenly, his voice full of warning, "Sansa, don't-"

"I want you," she said softly, leaning back onto her feet as she took in the sight of him from this angle. His expression was riddled with doubt, but rather than focus on that she settled her gaze on his body. "I've pictured this in my head before, you know, but I don't think I ever imagined you to look this... _perfect._ " She traced the grooves of his muscled chest, burying her fingertips in the thick, coarse, hair she found there.

Her words truly weren't for his benefit, nor was she just stroking his ego. Sandor was _everything_ in this moment. Every inch of him enticed her and sent her thoughts racing to places they so rarely went.

The only man she'd ever been with before was Joffrey, and it had been so long since they'd been together she could hardly remember the details. Not that she wanted to, of course, Joffrey had all the body of a twelve-year-old boy and he was a selfish lover to match.

Sandor was no boy, that was for sure. Sansa shifted her hips slightly, rolling them against his groin as she felt the evidence of his own desire. The motion elicited a low groan from Sandor's throat, and his powerful hands slid up and settled on her thighs, pulling her down against him as she moved. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, and for a moment she was thrilled at the thought that he might rip them off.

She was fascinated, watching his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw tensed with his head leaned back as he guided her inexperienced movements. It was as if he was concentrating, chasing a feeling.

It felt good for Sansa, too, but she needed more. The thin layers of clothes between them suddenly seemed like far too much, and Sansa gripped the bottom of his shirt that she wore.

"Sandor, look at me," she said in a breathy voice, and when his eyes opened, she began to pull the loose shirt over her head.

The door slammed open behind her, and Sansa whipped around so quickly that she nearly toppled off of him. Sandor made a choking sound of surprise at the intrusion.

"Sansa, Jon and Robb just left for work-" Arya started, but her eyes bulged out of her head at the sight of her sister mounted on top of Sandor. "Gods, my fucking _eyes_!" Arya held up a hand to cover them, half squinting as if she was afraid of what she might see.

"We're not...w-we aren't..." Sansa tried, scrambling off of Sandor's waist and settling onto the bed beside him. Her heart was slamming in her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's not what it looks like. Lock the door next time, seven hells," Arya huffed, her hand held up still blocking Sandor from her vision as she locked eyes with Sansa. "I noticed Sasquatch here never left last night, I was coming up to tell you that now was a good time to sneak him out. Robb and Jon left already, and Mom's out on the back porch on the phone."

Sansa snuck a glance over at Sandor beside her for the first time since Arya's intrusion, and found that he was sitting up with a pillow held over his waist, scowling deeply. She nearly smiled at his futile attempt at modesty.

"Alright, let us just get dressed and then we'll..." Sansa paused for a moment, a niggling thought working its way to the forefront of her mind. "Who is Mom on the phone with?"

Arya made a face, wrinkling her nose up in distaste in a way that told Sansa without words.

_Not again, oh hells._

"What is he after?" Sansa wondered aloud, concern settling in her gut.

Her _Uncle_ Petyr had called more than three times this week now, and Sansa was dismayed to find that he and her mother spoke for hours on end whenever he rang. She'd often take the call to her bedroom, or somewhere else that she found privacy.

"Beats me, I hate that fucking creep. I can't believe you didn't tell me for all these years that he did that thing with your underwear," Arya gagged, visibly cringing. Sansa had just relayed the story to her recently, when they'd shared their concerns the day prior over his sudden interaction with their mother.

"Who did _what_ with your fucking underwear?" Sandor growled beside her, his hands balling into fists at whatever mental picture he had conjured up.

Sansa nearly choked, almost having forgot he was next to her for a second. Her face grew hot with embarrassment, and she looked over to take in his livid expression.

"It's nothing, just this old pervert who calls himself our Uncle. He's been hounding our mother all of the sudden," Sansa felt gross even saying the words.

When Sandor looked no less comforted, she added a few reassuring words. "It was a long time ago, relax. The only person to get anywhere _near_ my underwear recently is you." She shot him a playful smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

"Barf! Gag! Kill me." Arya groaned from the door, covering her ears with her hands. "Now that I'm _completely_ scarred for life, I'll be downstairs digging my eyes out with a spoon." She pulled the door shut behind her, disappearing.

Sansa turned towards Sandor again to find that he looked incredibly unnerved, yet somehow still entirely handsome with his bare chest and ruffled hair.

"Sorry," she said quietly, "that was a lot to take in at eleven in the morning, I know."

He raised one brow. "No fucking kidding," his voice was harsh, but she could tell he wasn't truly angry.

"Really, I am sorry," she repeated, turning away from him to climb off the bed, mildly self-conscious that he might be staring at her butt from that angle. "We really should get dressed. Not that I'm worried about what my Mom thinks, but when Joffrey found out I was even _texting_ you and spending time with you he-" she cut off quickly, not wanting to get into it right then and there. She moved towards her dressed, searching for something to wear.

"He what, Sansa? What did he do?" Sandor rounded the bed, having already pulled his jeans on. They hung low around his hips, still unzipped, as he leaned against the side of her dresser, scrutinizing her. "Tell me."

"I will!" she said nervously. "Just not right now, okay? This isn't a good time." Sansa truthfully wasn't sure she wanted him to know, she was afraid of what he would do.

He snorted derisively, narrowing his eyes at her. "So there's not enough time to talk about something serious, but there's time to fuck?" He folded his arms across his chest, looking intimidating in more than one way.

Sansa paused after buttoning her jeans, and turned to face him. "I'm sad we didn't," she said quietly, taking the edge out of her voice. "I really...I really did want to."

He softened at that, a smirk forming at his lips. "Yeah, well, I wanted to, _too_ , little bird." He chuckled quietly, shaking his head at her as if it were a silly thing to say.

Sansa blushed, tilting her face towards the ground shyly, letting her hair fall into her eyes.

"Hey," he rasped lowly, stepping closer to her as his feet came into view. His rough fingertips nudged beneath her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. "Don't be shy, little bird. I know what you meant. Even though I don't understand how you could ever want to concern yourself with an ugly bastard like me."

Sansa made a sour face at that, and Sandor grinned wickedly at her as he went on. "If I ever get the chance again, just know that I'll do it right next time."

" _When_ ," Sansa corrected quickly, irked at his choice of words. "When _we_ get the chance, not if."

"Yeah, sure," he murmured, brushing the loose strands of hair that were resting on her cheek behind her ear. "When we get the chance again, it won't be a mess like that just was. If I had a bit more willpower, I wouldn't have even let it go that fucking far just now. But that's what a few years does to you, I guess." He looked self-loathing, and Sansa felt her breath catch.

"Years?" she whispered, shocked. Of course, given Sandor's attitude about seeing people, she didn't imagine he was with many women often. But she never imagined that he had gone so long.

 _Years_ without the loving touch of another person.

It was no wonder he was so ornery all the time, why he had originally shied away from her touch and gotten angry. She realized she might be the only woman to have touched him since he got his scars.

He didn't answer her, though, but instead he redirected her attention to something else in an attempt to lighten the mood. His fingers grasped the sleeve of the shirt she was wearing, his shirt, and tugged on it lightly.

"Am I going to get this back today, or am I going to have to give your sister another show when I walk downstairs?"

Realizing he was still half-naked, Sansa stared at him for a long moment. A brave, reckless thought crossed her mind. So she steeled herself before reaching down and pulling his shirt over her head in one swift movement.

Bare from the waist up, Sansa thrust the balled up shirt into his frozen hands, meeting his stunned gaze as she straightened her shoulders.

Sandor's eyes were locked onto her chest, and a low rumble sounded from his throat. He parted his lips as if he were going to speak, but immediately closed them after. His hands were crushing his shirt in closed fists, and every vein in his neck was standing stark.

Sansa ignored his reaction, as if being topless in front of him were the most natural thing in the world. She turned sideways and pulled open her top drawer quickly, grabbing one of her own t-shirts and slowly putting it on as he stood there gawking at her. When she was finished, she looked back towards him with a cocky grin on her face.

"Ready to go?" she said all chipper, moving towards the door as if nothing had happened. When she looked back, Sandor was still facing in the opposite direction. He waited another few beats before cautiously turning to look at her, his expression completely baffled.

"You're something else," he said gruffly, and Sansa was pleased to find that his cheeks were reddened as if she'd embarrassed him.

"Something good?" she said in a cheeky tone, her hand pausing just shy of the doorknob.

"A tease. I wouldn't call it good, necessarily, but I'm not going to complain." His eyes looked deviant, darker than usual. "You can flash your perky tits at me whenever you want." His husky, lewd, words sent her pulse thrumming with excitement.

Sansa had never heard him speak to her that way before, truthfully, she had never heard _anyone_ speak that way to her. She was stunned at the realization that she liked it.

"You're dirty," she commented in a playful voice, a shy smile breaking out across her face as she watched him pull his shirt over his head, taking one last long look before the black tee covered his chiseled chest.

Sandor looked amused for a second as he smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt with his hand. "Not usually, little bird. You bring it out in me." 

It was sweet, somehow, despite the context.

He moved towards the door, pausing to lean down and kiss her softly on the lips. "Now let's go, I'm sure your sister already thinks we're going at it again, we've been up here so long." 

Sansa stifled a giggle, following him out into the hall as she realized how good it was to have him back. 

For now, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of this chapter, still in Sansa's perspective, coming next week!


	13. View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly update! 
> 
> Trigger warnings of abuse and mentions of rape.

Getting Sandor out of the house unnoticed had proved far easier than Sansa had anticipated. Her mother had been sitting on a lawn chair in the backyard, completely oblivious to what was going on. 

Arya had been perched at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee that had Sansa's name scrawled in pink cursive on it, giving her a smug look as she'd descended down the stairs with Sandor. 

"Finally," Arya grumbled loudly around the coffee cup. Sansa silenced her with a scathing glance. Sandor could probably take Arya's taunts and sly remarks, of course, but she was on a mission right now.

Quickly guiding Sandor out the front door and onto the porch, she turned to face him with a small, nervous smile. 

"Thanks for staying with me." The words seemed innocent enough, but even as she said them images of what they'd done in her bed crossed her mind. It hadn't been her intention, to get so lost in him, but it had happened all the same. Where once he was intimidating and unapproachable, he'd taken every kiss and touch she had to offer. 

Now, Sandor's expression was passive, but his unrest was clear as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. 

"No problem." He eventually said in a gruff voice, after a bit too long. He was looking at her like she was a puzzle he couldn't solve. 

She wanted to kiss him, truthfully. To send him away wanting after they'd nearly gone too far, she doubted it made much sense from his perspective.

But Sansa found her eyes wandering the street in front of her house, as if she thought she'd see Joffrey just standing there on the sidewalk, catching her in the act. 

All was quiet, though, nothing out of place with the exception of a black sedan she didn't recognize parked at the end of the road in front of the Manderly's house. 

_Probably just a guest,_ she assured herself silently.

"Can I, uh... Can I come see you, later? At your place? If I have time, I mean." She said the words carefully, not wanting to promise anything for certain.

His face stayed stony, but Sansa swore she saw his eyes warm at her request. 

It made her feel like crap. He was likely imagining something similar to this morning, but really her only intention was to explain what the truth of her situation was, and why they couldn't talk anymore.

Or, at least, a less morbid version of the truth. Something that didn't make her seem completely spineless.

"Stop by whenever, little bird," he said lowly, taking a step closer to her. He raised a rough hand to her cheek, cupping it as his thumb brushed across her lower lip slowly. Stormy grey eyes were raking over her face in an utterly exposing way. 

Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck, and a shiver ran down her spine. Sansa would have reveled in his touch, had they been safely inside away from prying eyes, but out here in the open it left her scared. 

"I'll see you later, then," he rasped, watching her reaction earnestly.

"See you later," she said with a tight-lipped smile, and when he withdrew his hand she quickly scurried inside without looking back, no doubt leaving him confused. She pushed the door behind her shut firmly, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. 

"Aren't you going to drive him home?" A curious Arya chirped from a few feet away, her expression puzzled.

When Sansa only returned the confused look, her sister sighed quietly. 

"He walked here, Sansa. Last night, remember? You didn't notice that his car wasn't parked in front of our house?" Her tone was incredulous. 

Sansa's cheeks prickled with heat, and she brushed by her sister as she made to the kitchen to pour herself a bowl of cereal. In truth, she _hadn't_ noticed, she'd been so busy looking for signs of Joffrey that she had failed to notice the glaringly obvious: Sandor hadn't driven here.

"He doesn't live that far," she said nervously, shaking a bit more sugar flakes out than she meant to into her favorite blue bowl. "It's not a good idea for me to drive him anyways, people would get the wrong idea if anyone saw."

" _People_ would, huh?" Arya mocked quietly, eyeing Sansa as she settled onto the counter chair across from her. "People like Joffrey, maybe?" 

Sansa shrugged anxiously, feeling as if she were under the microscope. 

Arya drummed her fingers on the granite, huffing lowly. "You know, Sansa, I could give a fuck if you cheat on Joffrey--"

"I'm _not_ cheating on Joffrey," Sansa interjected quickly, her mouth half full of cereal as she struggled to swallow it down. "Cheating on him would imply that there's anything real between us, there isn't."

"So why are you moving in with him then," Arya scoffed, rounding the counter and grabbing the back of Sansa's chair to turn her to face her, sending her spoon careening out of her hand in doing so.

"Hey!" Sansa started, reaching for her spoon again as she tried to avoid her suddenly invasive eye contact. 

"I'm serious, Sansa, who are you and what have you done with my sister?" Her face was full of concern, barely any of her usual smug sarcasm present now. "You've spent the last few months playing the doting girlfriend, and the second some _guy_ from our childhood shows up back in town, you're all over him. You start blowing Joffrey off, skipping class, and then out of _nowhere,_ you're moving in with Joff somehow. Something I _know_ you don't want; you've told me a million freaking times."

Sansa hedged half of her accusations, focusing on the easiest one to counter. "People change their minds, Arya, it happens." 

"And to top it all off," Arya went on, ignoring her lame attempt at excusing her behavior, "right before you have this sudden revelation, you come home covered in bruises. And you expect me to believe you fell down a flight of stairs at Joffrey's house. Even Robb didn't believe that one. Just tell me the truth, Sansa. Did Joffrey do this?" She waved a stubby finger at Sansa's half bruised cheek erratically. 

"I'm not lying," Sansa said quickly, her skin prickling with heat as she stared at her sister's angry expression. "I told you the truth already, I did fall down the stairs. Joffrey would never hit me, it's never been like that-"

"He better not have. I'd kill him," Arya said, her thick eyebrows knitting together in severity. 

"I know," Sansa said hollowly, staring at her now soggy cereal as she broke eye contact. "Can we talk about something else, please?" 

Arya was silent for a few moments beside her, before Sansa heard her chair squeak. When she looked up, her sister was watching their mother laughing on the phone through the glass patio doors. 

"I don't like this," Arya said quietly, scrubbing her fingertips against her messy hair. "What does he want? Why won't he leave her alone, all of the sudden? We see him once at the funeral for the first time in forever, and now months later he's calling here every day practically." 

"I don't know. I don't like it either, though." Sansa's stomach grumbled, though she wasn't sure if it was from stress or hunger, and she found herself unceremoniously lifting her cereal bowl to her mouth to drink some of the milk. Minus the spoon, of course. 

"There's something I like even less." Arya chewed on her lip slowly, propping her elbows up and resting her face in her hands as she watched Sansa eat her breakfast like a barbarian. "Robb and Jon, they aren't bothered by it. They act all weird when I bring it up, and say _Uncle Petyr is just trying to help,_ like that makes any sense." Her voice took on a high-pitched mocking tone as she mimicked their words, bitterness seeping out of her.

Sansa wiped her milk mustache off gracelessly, her mind working as she tried to make sense of that. She'd pretty much had her head in the sand for the last few days after what had happened at Joffrey's house, so this was news to her. 

"Help? Help like how?" Sansa asked quietly. 

Arya shrugged her small shoulders, lips pursed with distaste. "Money, or something. At least that's what I gathered from the way they were talking about it. I mean, I know we're not _swimming_ in it anymore since Dad passed, but we're getting by just fine without this creep's help. Right?" She cast a wayward glance at Sansa, eyebrows perked.

"Right," Sansa echoed hollowly, the pit returning in her stomach and settling uneasily. She wasn't sure what to make of this information, but it had her mind racing rapidly as she tried to imagine if there was any eventuality where their dear _Uncle_ might know what she knows. 

"Uncle Petyr, does he still represent for that Dornish real estate firm that opened a headquarters here a few years back?" The question was seemingly innocent, but Sansa found her heart pounding as it spilled from her lips. 

"I don't know," Arya said, frowning slightly. "Does it matter?"

"Just curious." Sansa combed her fingers through her disheveled hair, never having brushed it after waking up this morning. "I just want to understand him, that's all. He scares me. Know thy enemy, and all that." 

"He scares me too," Arya nodded, looking grim. "You're right though, couldn't hurt to know. I'll find out for you, give me a bit." Arya pulled out her cellphone and began typing rapidly into her search bar. 

"Let me know," Sansa said quietly, just as her own phone buzzed in her pocket. 

For a fraction of a second, her heart skipped a beat at the idea that it might be Sandor. But immediately her hopes were dashed as she realized he was still blocked. There was only one other person it might be. With shaking fingers, she tugged it from her jeans and peered at the screen. 

**Joffrey: Bich where are u?? u were supposed 2 be here already.**

Her mind immediately wandered back to the agreement she'd made a few days prior to meet Joffrey at the new apartment. It wasn't for the purpose of moving in, move in day was still two days away. She suspected it was just a way for him to gleefully torture her with her impending doom. 

Sansa pushed images of the last time she'd seen him out of her mind desperately, not wanting to relive all of it. She forced herself to respond as civilly as she could manage. 

**Sansa: Sorry, love. My mother needed help with breakfast, I'll be there as quick as I can.**

Her teeth were clenched as she typed, hating that he put her in this position, hating that she had to play nice with him. It was a blatant lie, and she knew he wouldn't care regardless, so when her phone vibrated with his response, she ignored it and made to stand. 

"I have to go, Joffrey wants to look at the new apartment." Sansa said calmly, trying not to show how upset she was. 

Arya was too deep in her searches to notice, though, so she nodded absentmindedly in response. "See ya." 

Sansa grabbed her car keys off the table, taking one last look through the glass doors where her mother was still happily chatting away on the phone, before making her way to her car.

* * * * * * *

"This is going to be the movie room, I'll probably put a bar in that corner over there," Joffrey was prattling on, partially to Sansa and partially to Trant. Sansa had been humming here and there appreciatively as she walked through the apartment, whereas Trant had been feeding into Joffrey's ego actively. 

In truth, it was a nice place. It was likely larger, and fancier, than most people's homes. It was two floors, with a metal staircase to the right of the living area and had at least three bedrooms and four bathrooms. More shockingly, it was a corner apartment, which meant two walls were completely windowed and had a wrap-around balcony. 

Sansa wasn't even sure she wanted to see the monthly price tag on the place, and for the life of her she couldn't understand why Cersei would allow Joff to spend that kind of money.

Regardless, she was currently pleased that he hadn't immediately launched into hurting her again upon her arrival. Joffrey was in good spirits today, chattering excitedly about his new apartment and pointing out every obvious thing just for the sake of bragging. 

Sansa was so lost in thought that she almost slammed into Trant's back, realizing they had stopped in the hallway. 

"Sansa, are you listening?" Joffrey snapped, taking on an irritated tone. "I said, this is _your_ room." He didn't open the door to show her, instead just gesturing to it dismissively.

She froze for a moment, a small silver lining in her newfound misery suddenly appearing. "I... I have my own bedroom?"

Joffrey snorted, rolling his eyes as if she were the dullest girl he'd ever met. "Of course, you have your own bedroom, I have no interest in sharing a bed with you." He salted his words with a bitter tone, and Sansa tried to look hurt for his benefit. 

"Oh," she said, feigning self-pity.

Joffrey clucked his tongue loudly, eyes scanning her. "Don't be sad, you won't be _completely_ alone..." He exchanged a sidelong glance with Trant, and they both smirked as Joffrey gestured to the door immediately across from 'hers'. 

"This is Trant's room, I'm sure he'll be happy to keep you company." Joffrey sneered at her, arms crossed.

_No freaking way._

"Trant? Trant is going to live here, too?" Sansa squeaked, and she dared a glance in his direction, only to find he was staring at her with a deviant smile on his face.

Joffrey stepped closer to her, ducking his head to make eye contact with her. "Is that a problem?" 

"N-no..." Sansa stuttered, her face growing hot as she stared at her toes. She was just beginning to imagine what kind of horrors would befall her, being so close to Trant, when Joffrey grabbed her by the chin and jerked her face up. 

"Look at him," Joffrey said breathlessly, seeming excited at her fear. He was forcing her to stare at Trant now, who looked just as thrilled. "Does he scare you, Sansa?"

She swallowed hard, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at the older man. He was around the same age as Sandor, shorter, even, but somehow he intimidated her in ways Sandor never could. 

"No," she said firmly, pressing her lips together tight. 

"Liar," Joffrey laughed, releasing his grip on her chin and pushing his palm against her cheek as he shoved her face away. "Come, let's go see my room."

Sansa exhaled a quiet sigh of relief when the altercation was over, happy to survive it unscathed. Even Joffrey's cruelty was squelched by the excitement of his day for him.

Joffrey's room turned out to be upstairs, which might have been a relief to Sansa that he was so far, had she not just found out about her imminent proximity to Trant. It was by far the most lavish room in the apartment, the windowed walls had razor thin panels so that it was like looking straight out over the park that centered the apartment complex.

Sansa noted she could see the campus from here, finding a small victory in that fact she would perhaps be able to walk rather than drive from here on out. She was standing with one hand on the glass in wonderment at the view, having forgotten whom she was with, when she felt someone press up against her.

Instantly, she went rigid. One of Joffrey's slimy hands curled around her waist, while the other went to her throat. He shoved her roughly up against the glass, lowering his lips to her ear from behind. 

"I could take you right here, you know. Right against this glass, whether you liked it or not. I could rip your shirt off and press your tits to the glass. Everyone walking by, down below, would be able to see. Would you like that?" His voice had grown angry, but there was a hint of pleasure there. As if he enjoyed hating her, tormenting her.

Sansa whimpered out of fear softly, and when she didn't speak he tightened his grasp around her neck and shook her. 

"Would you?" he hissed, removing his hand from her waist and placing it on the back of her head as he forced her face into the glass. 

Sansa gasped softly for air, but her breath sucked in hap-haphazardly against the glass.

"Y-yes," she managed to say, resisting the urge to push him away. She had no doubt that she could get away from Joffrey, were they alone, but in this situation trying to evade him would only make it worse. Trant was surely right behind him, watching happily. 

"More lies," Joffrey chuckled quietly. "You're becoming an obedient little thing, perhaps we'll break you yet." He released her suddenly, and Sansa's knees nearly gave out at the lack of pressure. 

She didn't turn to look at them, the shame welling up inside of her at how willingly she was taking the abuse. Sansa would never stand for it, were it not for the fact Joffrey held the cards to her family's future. She'd gladly give up her scholarship and internship now to escape him, but it was no longer an option. 

Joffrey and Trant began talking about placement for furniture, quickly forgetting Sansa's presence as if she hadn't just been humiliated moments before. She settled against the kitchen counter, leaning into it as she wrapped her arms around her chest, watching them hatefully. 

Trant suddenly cut off speaking about where the couch would go when his phone beeped loudly. When he acknowledged it, his eyes immediately zeroed in on Sansa across the room. A smile curled onto his lips as he wordlessly tilted the screen towards Joffrey, whose eyes narrowed into slits at the sight of whatever they were looking at.

Joffrey snatched the phone from Trant's hand, his face beet red as he approached her. He thrust the screen into her face, and Sansa had to lean back slightly to make the screen come into focus.

"You stupid ungrateful slut, try and explain this to me," he snarled, and Sansa felt her mouth drop open at the sight of what he was showing her. "Who the fuck is this?"

It was a picture, clearly taken from far away, showing Sandor and Sansa standing at her doorstep from that morning. Sandor was enormous, compared to Sansa, leaned over and cupping her cheek tenderly with a warm look on his face. 

Even more damning was the way Sansa was looking back at him, clearly enjoying his touch. 

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn't go down. Her mind was a flurry, and she vaguely remembered the unusual car parked at the end of the road that morning. When she didn't speak for a moment, Joffrey raised his hand and slapped her harshly. 

Her cheek stung, but he was too weak to do any real damage. Still, tears formed at the corners of her eyes from the shock of the impact, and she backed away from him instinctively. 

"You like fucking around behind my back, don't you? Idiot little whore that you are, you probably think it gives you power." He was advancing on her as he spoke, and Sansa was backing away with each step he took in her direction. 

"If you like it so much, let's do it right now," he said, a malicious grin breaking out across his face. "Trant, you can have her. Fuck her like a dog face pressed right into the rug, I don't care. She's clearly used, now, might as well take her for yourself." 

Sansa's gaze immediately flickered to Trant who was standing some ten paces behind Joffrey, his eyes raking over her body. She couldn't find words, all of this was beyond words, but there was one thing she could do.

_Run._

Her back was flush against the door now, and Joffrey was too close for her to open it without him stopping her. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to get away, get away as fast as possible. So, she did the only thing she could do.

Sansa bent her leg slightly and thrust her knee up as hard as she could between Joffrey's legs, as soon as she heard him yell out in pain, she was turning on her heel and yanking the door open. Her footsteps thundered in the hall, and she made the impulse decision to skip the elevator and go straight for the stairs.

She could hear Trant chasing after her in the distance, but Sansa was practically floating as she flew down the steps as fast as her legs could carry her. Her car was parked across the street in the coffee shop parking lot, she hadn't known the access code to the underground garage yet. 

Even though Trant was unlikely to chase her in broad daylight in front of other people, she still sprinted across the road, narrowly avoiding traffic, as she bee-lined for the safety of her old beat up sedan.

Once she was inside, she locked the doors and took a moment to breathe. The fearful voice inside her dared her not to look back, but she couldn't help herself. 

Trant was standing forty feet away in the door of the side stairway of the apartment building, looking at her hungrily like a mad dog who had missed one too many meals. Jaw set, nostrils flaring, his expression told her one thing for certain.

He wasn't going to give up, at least not that easily. 

The realization of that terrified her more than she thought possible, and when she had finally stopped shaking enough to drive, she found herself heading to Sandor's house.

He needed to know the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to have Sandor's perspective, next week. 
> 
> Sansa's got some 'splainin to do.


End file.
